A Harbor in the Tempest
by victoria p
Summary: Seven years after the movie, the US government is persecuting mutants. The X-Men are scattered. Somehow, they manage to find each other again, in a little dive bar in a little town south of the border. [L/R, R/B, L/J (L/O, O/G)]
1. Prologue

Title: A Harbor in the Tempest  
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net]  
Summary: About seven years after the movie. The US government is persecuting mutants. The X-Men are scattered. Somehow, they manage to find each other again, in a little dive bar in a little town south of the border.   
Rating: R - language, violence, sex  
Warning: Character death. I didn't want to do it, but...  
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights. The song "All I Want Is You" belongs to U2. "We Will Rock You" belongs to Queen. "We Shall Overcome" belongs to someone, but no one is quite sure who. It ain't me, though. I know that. See other disclaimers at the end.  
Archive: If you've already got my stuff, yes. If not, please just let me know you're taking it.  
Feedback: Please don't make me beg. It's so demeaning. g  
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. If anyone's got a better title, let me know - this thing's had three or four already.  
Dedication: JenN - this was your challenge. I hope you like what I've done.  
  
indicates thoughts  
{ } indicates song lyrics  
// // indicates flashbacks  
  
A Harbor in the Tempest  
  
Prologue  
  
Magneto had been right. A war did come. A war that was still raging across the United States, pitting brother against brother, mother against child. A war that led to what Professor Xavier had hoped would never happen, and Erik Lehnsherr had always feared -- mutants made to register with the government, and carry papers at all times. Mutants herded off to internment camps for "re-education." Mutants hunted down and killed, simply for being different.  
  
No one believed it would ever go that far; not until the day the troops arrived at the mansion on Greymalkin Lane. They attacked with unprecedented ferocity against citizens of the United States of America for these so-called enlightened times. So many were lost or killed. The X-Men were no more.  
  
But some survived. This is their story.  
  
***  
  
  



	2. Act I

**Act I**

1.

The news was splashed across the headline of every major newspaper in Mexico. 

The police got the email as soon as it happened. It was coded Urgent. "Two American soldiers carrying classified government documents killed crossing the border. Suspect and possible accomplices headed for Tijuana. Round up all suspicious characters and search them for stolen documents."

* * *

Ororo Munroe, a beautiful light-skinned black woman with snow-white hair, stood behind the bar. Her eyes swept over the crowd, alert as ever to the subtle nuances of her surroundings.

In a shadowed booth, a couple of obvious mutants whispering heatedly with one of the town's many pawnbrokers, probably trying to raise enough money to buy exit visas. Over near the cage, a pair of women waiting for Logan, hoping to get lucky that night. Poor things, she thought. They never learn. At the other end of the bar, two American soldiers on leave, their presence a sure sign that the easy-going, mutant-friendly days in Tijuana would soon be a memory.

A man walked in then, and she stiffened. He was an old enemy, small but well-muscled, his skin an oily greenish hue.

"Storm," he said, his eyes never meeting hers, "I need to see Logan."

Her eyes moved over him with disdain. "Make an appointment, Toad. You know the rules."

Logan came out of his office then, and stalked toward the bar. He looked at Toad and said, "You. In back. Now."

"Logan -- "

"It's all right, Ororo," he said, jerking his head at the smaller man, who followed him back into the office.

"Too bad about those couriers, eh?" Toad said with false heartiness.

Logan shrugged. "Whatever. Yesterday, they were just two dumb guys. Today, they're 'honored war dead,' heroes of the United States."

"You're a very cynical man, if you'll forgive me for saying so," Toad replied.

"I forgive you." Logan's voice held no emotion at all.

They sat in silence for a few moments, and Toad realized how a mouse must feel when a cat is toying with it. "You hate me, don't you?" he said, unable to endure the quiet any longer.

Again, Logan shrugged. "If I gave you any thought, I probably would."

"But why?" Toad was truly puzzled. "Yes, we were enemies once, but now, all mutants must stick together. And who would help out all these poor persecuted people if I didn't? I manage to get them their papers and visas, get them on a boat or a plane to Canada, where it's safe for those of our kind."

"And you charge an arm and a leg to do it, Toad."

"True," he said, "but think of all the people who cannot afford to pay Remy their first-born child."

Logan didn't laugh at the joke. "I don't mind a parasite, bub, but I don't like a cut-rate one."

"Well, after tonight, you won't have to think of me at all, Logan. I'm leaving this hellhole for my lovely homeland down under."

"And who did you bribe for your visa? Remy or yourself?"

"Myself," Toad said ironically. "I'm much more reasonable." He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and put it on the desk between them. "Look, Logan, do you know what this is?" He tapped the envelope and the pitch of his voice rose with excitement. "Letters of transit signed by the Attorney General of the United States. Cannot be rescinded, or even questioned." Logan reached out and placed his hand on the envelope. "Hold on a second! Tonight, I'll be selling these for more money than even I have ever dreamed of. And then goodbye, Tijuana!

"You know, I have many friends here, but somehow, you're the only one I trust. Even though you hate me. Or perhaps because of it. Will you hold them for me? Please?"

"For how long?" Logan asked guardedly.

"An hour, maybe two."

"I don't want them here overnight," Logan growled.

  
"Don't worry about that," Toad replied. "Thanks."

He exited rapidly into the bar, but Logan followed right behind him. "You know, Mortimer," Toad flinched at the name, "I heard those soldiers were carrying letters of transit."

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Then, "I heard that too, Logan. Poor bastards." He walked away and slid into his usual booth, in the back corner. Within seconds, he'd gathered a crowd, all looking to bet on tonight's fights.

His boss, Erik Lehnsherr, also known as Magneto, former leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants, entered the saloon and walked purposefully up to the bar. Magneto had been reduced to owning a café on the other side of town.

"Logan," he said, and even when he tried to be cordial, disdain dripped from his voice.

"What the hell do you want, Lehnsherr?" Logan growled.

"I'd like to buy the bar."

"It's not for sale." 

Erik sighed. "You haven't even heard my offer."

"It's not for sale at any price, Lehnsherr."

"What about the lovely Ms. Munroe?" Erik asked.

"I don't buy or sell people," Logan snarled. "I'm not like you."

"It's a shame, Logan. People are Tijuana's leading commodity. If you were willing to work with me, we could make a fortune on the black market."

"Why don't you run your business and let me run mine, bub?"

"Perhaps Ms. Munroe should have a say?" Lehnsherr asked smoothly. He motioned and Ororo walked over. "My dear young lady, would you like to come and work for me at La Café de la Torre?"

"He'll pay you double what you make here," Logan threw in.

Ororo laughed. "I do not have time to spend what you pay me, Logan. I'm happy where I am." And she moved down the bar to serve another customer.

Logan shrugged. "Told ya."

Magneto scowled and left.

Logan stepped behind the bar momentarily, slid the envelope into the secret compartment beneath the refrigerator, and continued on into his office.

* * *

2.

A little later, that same evening…

Remy "The Gambit" LeBeau walked into the bar with a catlike grace. He was well-known in these parts -- there were whispers he'd collaborated with the US government, with the Brotherhood of Mutants, with the X-Men. No one knew quite where his loyalties lay, and for now, he was in the employ of the Mexican government. He was the provisional governor of the wild South-of-the-Border town of Tijuana. The Mexicans had recently signed a treaty with the Americans, and the rumor mill said that the anti-mutant sentiment so rampant in the States would be sweeping south soon. The only safe place was Canada -- but getting there was dangerous. Remy was the man to see if you needed papers. And everyone needed papers.

His strange red-on-black eyes scanned the room. It was crowded -- Sam's was always crowded. It was the only bar in town to hold cage fights, and it seemed there were very few things the inhabitants -- and transients -- in Tijuana enjoyed more than cage fights.

Ororo raised an eyebrow as he sat on a stool at the corner of the bar.

"A little early for you to be in here, is it not?" she asked.

He grinned. "To see the most beautiful woman in Tijuana, Remy get up at the crack o' dawn, chere." She rolled her eyes. "El jefe around?"

"He is not here at the moment, Remy. Can I help you?"

"Ma petite, if you would consent to be Remy's woman--"

"I think not."

"Then no, you can't help me," he said, shaking his head sadly and lighting up a cigarette. 

"This is about the papers that went missing yesterday," she said sharply.

"Oui, mademoiselle. Papers, lives, these things are all for sale in Tijuana, most especially at Sim's."

"Sam's," she corrected, smiling over gritted teeth. "We know nothing about the papers, Remy. Have you checked with your good friend Magneto and his stooge, Toad?"

"Merde, Ororo, you sound bitter. I did what I had to do to survive. You'd have done the same. I will wait, and watch the crowds go by," he said, taking a long drag off his cigarette and smiling as falsely as she had moments before. "A gin and tonic, chere, s'il vous plait."

She turned away to make his drink, all the while cursing the thrill his voice still sent down her spine. He hadn't changed; she knew that. All that had changed was her perception of him. He was no longer her teammate and lover -- he was the man who'd sold them all out in return for his own survival. He was the same amoral con-man he'd always been, but she saw it clearly now, instead of allowing her hormones -- and she refused to believe it was more than hormones -- to overcome her good judgment.

Placing the drink before him wordlessly, she nodded to Jubilee and made her way to the office. She needed a break.

Logan was leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk. He looked up from the paper he was reading. "What's that damn Cajun doing here, 'Ro?" he asked. Even after all this time, his keen senses amazed her. "Want me to kick his ass for you?"

She smiled, genuinely this time. Then she sobered. "He thinks you have the missing letters of transit."

"Why would he think that?"

"Do you?" she pressed.

"That would be telling," he replied, taking a long drag off the cigar he was smoking. 

"You will use them this time?" she asked, smart enough not to press him to say it out loud.

"I won't. You and Jean might." He sighed. "Hank had nothing good to say, 'Ro. He risked a lot to come down here and examine her, but she's in bad shape, even if she won't admit it."

"She won't leave you."

"She will if I tell her to," he shot back, taking his feet off the desk and letting the chair hit the floor with a thump. "Keeping her here isn't doing her any good."

Ororo walked over and laid a hand on his arm. "It is not your fault, Logan. Any of it. She chose to do this to herself after Scott died--"

Logan interrupted her. "Come in, Jubilee."

"Jean just came in, Logan."

"Yeah, and?"

"She's upset. And Remy--"

He was out the door before she could finish the sentence. 

"Ah, Logan," Remy began, turning from his conversation with the redheaded woman sitting next to him. "The stunning Ororo tol' me you weren't in. I guess you were mistaken, eh, chere?" Ororo sniffed and moved behind the bar.

  
The other patrons all watched, feeling the tension as two of the town's most powerful men faced off.

"Just got here, bub. What's it to ya?" Logan snapped.

"Remy have some friends comin' here tonight. I think you might be interested in 'em. Just wanted to give you a heads up, mon ami."

"Your friends are of no interest to us, Monsieur," Ororo said coldly.

"Oh, mon chere, you'd be surprised, I think," he replied.

"Dammit, Ororo, why haven't you given me a drink yet?" Jean demanded suddenly, leaning across the bar toward her oldest friend.   
  
Ororo looked at Logan uncertainly. He put a hand on Jean's shoulder. "I think you've had enough today, Jeannie," he said gently. "Why don't you go home and --"

"Wait for you? I'll spend all night waiting, like I did last night and the night before. Where were you last night, Logan?" Jean cried.

"That's so long ago," he replied neutrally, "I don't remember."

"And tonight? Will you come home tonight?" 

"I never make plans that far ahead, Jean."

She huffed in frustration and said, "I need a drink, 'Ro. Please?"

"She's had enough, Storm. Don't give her anything."

"I swear to God, Logan, you're not my mother. I can drink if I want to--"

"What about what Hank said, Jean? Think for once, dammit. I don't want you to die." Emotion crept into his voice, but Ororo wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Maybe I want to die, Logan. Have you ever thought about that? Maybe then I can stop seeing them -- hearing them in my head -- dying…" She broke down, sobbing against Logan's chest. He cradled her and stroked her hair softly. 

"I know, Red. I know all about it." He turned to a waiter named Carl. "Take her home, Carl. Make sure she gets inside safely."

Fury replaced her tears. "Who do you think you are, Logan, pushing me around? I'm such a fool for thinking that you and I could ever have anything real, or good. That you could ever be like--" She didn't say the name. She didn't have to. Every move they made, every gesture, every word spoken or not, was haunted by Scott Summers' absence -- his, and the others.

Jean suddenly became docile. Carl took her gently by the arm and led her outside to the cabstand in front of the bar.

"Logan, how extravagant, throwing away women like that," Remy said grandiosely. "Someday, they may be scarce." Logan leaned on the bar and raised an eyebrow. He was more amused by Remy than angry with him. The man was a survivor, and Logan respected that, though little else, about the dapper thief. "Would you mind if Remy paid the good doctor a call later this evening, mon ami? Maybe catch her on the rebound?"

Logan's voice was pleasant, but there was an underlying hint of menace in his words. "Stay away from Jean, Remy. She don't need you around reminding her of what she's lost."

Remy sighed. "How did you end up here, Logan? Why not Canada, where it's free and you're home? Are you wanted there? Did you steal church funds? Fool around with the wrong woman? The romantic in me likes to think you killed a man and ran off with his wife."

Logan's knuckles itched and his fists clenched. Ororo and Jubilee watched the two men warily. They'd never fought together as X-Men, had no shared history at all before Tijuana, but he knew what Remy had done. And what he himself was guilty of. Logan forced himself to relax. I didn't kill Scott, he thought. I didn't. And then, the insidious voice inside his head said, If you'd been there, you could have saved him, saved them all. He ignored it.

"Something like that," he responded, pulling out a cigar and lighting it.

"And why Tijuana?"

"I came for the waters."

"Waters? What waters? This is practically the desert," Remy said.

"Yeah, so I found out," Logan replied shortly.  
  


Remy chuckled, then turned serious. "Logan, there's going to be some excitement in here tonight. The Americans are going to make an arrest."

"What, again?" Logan snapped, annoyed.

"Oh, this is no petty thief, mon ami. We are here to catch a murderer," Remy said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. He watched as Logan's eyes flitted involuntarily over to Toad's corner booth. "If you are thinkin' of warnin' him, don't. There's no way he can escape."

Logan shrugged. "I stick my neck out for no one."

"A wise policy," the Cajun responded. "You know," he continued, gesturing with his cigarette, "they could have made the arrest earlier, at La Café, but Remy wanted to entertain your patrons in between fights."

"Thanks," Logan said sarcastically.

Remy leaned in closer and rasped, "Just for your information, Logan, there will be a very important man joining us tonight. Cameron Hodge is in Mexico." Logan tensed at the name. The man was the Secretary of Defense, far more virulent in his hatred of mutants than Senator Kelly had ever been. 

Of course, it was Mystique's impersonation of Kelly that had led to this whole mess, when Logan thought about it. Which he tried not to. But, after helping to arrange Magneto's escape from his plastic prison, she had been caught and summarily executed. The Mutant Registration Act had passed quickly then, and things had spun out of control, until mutants were being shepherded into internment camps for "re-education" and forced to flee the country or be hunted down like dogs.

Remy noted Logan's white knuckles as the Canadian said, "Really. And what's Hodge doing in town? I'm sure he's not here for the fights."

It was Remy's turn to shrug. "Perhaps not."

"My office. Now." Logan rose and Remy followed. Once inside, with the door shut, Logan said, "Stop playing games, pal. What the hell is going on?"

"Remy tryin' to do you a solid, Wolverine. We know what goes on in here -- that people are buyin' and sellin' exit visas all the time. But not you. Never you. That's why we haven't shut you down."  
  
"I thought it was because we kicked back twenty percent on the take from the fights to you," Logan growled.

Remy inclined his head. "There is that. But you must know, someone has arrived here and we believe he will be attempting to get to Canada. He's willing to pay a fortune to anyone who will sell him an exit visa."

"So? What's his name?"

"Robert Drake."

Logan let out a long, low whistle. "Robert Drake?" He knew the name. Everyone knew the name.

Remy snorted. "That's the first time I've ever seen you so impressed," he said.

"Well, he's impressed half the world," Logan replied. 

"Maybe so, but it's my job to make sure he doesn't impress the rest." Remy sighed. It wasn't going to be easy to see Drake again. They'd never been close, but they'd been teammates once -- had shared a room and an interest in the same girl. But those days were long gone. "Logan, Drake must stay here in Tijuana. He must never get to Canada."

"It'll be interesting to see how he does it," Logan mused.

"Does what?" Remy asked, confused.

"Escapes."

"I just told you --"

"Please, Gumbo. He managed to escape from an internment camp, make his way over to Europe, preach to the converted over there about Mutant Rights, all while being chased by the CIA." Logan chuckled. "The man is like the Lone Ranger and Superman all rolled into one."

"Maybe so," Remy said again, "but this is the end of the line."

"Ten thousand dollars says it isn't," Logan said immediately. 

"Are you serious?"  
  
"As a heart attack. My boys haven't been fightin' up to par the past few days and we've been losin' money. I'd like to make some of it back."

"Make it five. Remy not livin' large right now."

"Done," said Logan, lighting up a new cigar from the remains of the last.

"No matter how clever or slick m'boy is, he still needs papers. Or should I say, papers for two."

"Two?"

"He is traveling with a lady."

Logan snorted. "He'll take one set."

"Mais non. I know the lady. He's taken her with him every step of the way. He'll not leave her here." Not with you, he thought.

"No one is that romantic, Remy."

"Either way, it doesn't matter," the Cajun said firmly. "He will not get papers. He will not leave Mexico. You understand me?" 

"Five by five, bub. Why do you think I'd bother helping Drake escape anyway? I've never gone out of my way to help anyone before," Logan said. Except Marie. Don't think about Marie. Just don't.

"Because, mon cher," Remy replied, cranking up the accent, "Remy believes that underneath that scowl you be a romantic at heart."

"Get out," Logan growled. "Now."

* * *

3.

Remy opened the door. Ororo stood there, a concerned look on her face. "Logan--" she said, but Remy cut her off.

"Hodge is here," he muttered, sliding his sunglasses on to hide his mutant eyes.

"I've put him close to the cage, Logan. What is he doing here?" Ororo asked. She was obviously spooked.

Logan laid a hand on her arm. "Go back to the bar, 'Ro," he said grimly. "I'll handle this."

He and LeBeau walked over to the blonde man sitting at the best table in the house. "Monsieur Hodge, here is the owner of this fine establishment. His name is Logan."

"How do you do, Mr. Logan?" Hodge asked perfunctorily. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? Unofficially, of course."

"Make it official. I don't care." He pulled out a chair, turned it around and straddled it, lighting a cigar.

"What is your nationality?" Hodge began, his voice flat and precise -- the Midwest broadcasting accent.

"I'm a drunk."

"Which makes Logan a citizen of the world," Remy said heartily.

"I understand you were in San Francisco before coming to Tijuana, Mr. Logan."

Logan stiffened but said, "It ain't a secret, bub."

"No, it's not. We have a dossier on you, Mr. Logan. You once fought with the X-Men, is that so?" 

"We had a common enemy, so it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"And yet, you managed to escape the punishment meted out to your fellow teammates," Hodge said curiously.

"They weren't my teammates," Logan replied, his eyes going to Storm and Jubilee behind the bar. "Just acquaintances." He was far closer now with the surviving X-Men than he'd been back then.

"We know what you were doing in San Francisco, Mr. Logan. But don't worry, we're not here to arrest you," Hodge continued, as he slid a folder across the table, and Logan rifled through it.

"Are my eyes really hazel?" he asked, his flippant tone masking the tension and his readiness to fight at the slightest provocation. He pushed the folder back toward Hodge and his hands moved under the table; the claws slid out silently and gouged holes in the wood.

The sounds of the crowd cheering on the fight seemed very far away at the moment.

"Mr. Logan, my point is this. An enemy of the United States," and it was **amazing** how every politician managed to sound like they were from the Bible Belt when they said that, "is here in Tijuana. A man wanted for escaping prison," For being a mutant, Logan thought, "for plotting to overthrow the government," Hodge was in full-on spin-doctoring mode now, "is here in Mexico, and we've recently signed a treaty with the Mexican government outlining our rights when it comes to hunting down mutants and criminals." 

"Not much difference between 'em, eh?" Logan said, keeping his temper in check. He had people -- Ororo, Jubilee, Jean -- depending on him now. He couldn't let them down the way he had Marie. He chose not to think about how **she** had let him down, broken every fucking promise that she'd made. He took a deep breath. He'd learned some restraint over the past few years. He'd had to, to survive. There were now six, inch-deep grooves on the underside of the table. "I don't give a flying fuck about Robert Drake, Hodge. My only interest is in making money. Reformers are bad for business."  

Hodge smiled, and it was ugly to see. "We understand each other, then, Mr. Logan." He raised his glass. "Have a drink with me." 

"I'm sorry," Logan said. "I never drink with the customers." He moved to get up then but Hodge stopped him.

"Wait. The show is about to begin. Go ahead, LeBeau." Remy nodded at someone at the bar.

Suddenly, a group of four seemingly drunk soldiers straightened up and moved toward Toad's booth.

One of them said, "Mortimer Toynbee, you are under arrest for the murders of Corporal Lawrence Hepplewhite and Corporal David Martin of the United States Army, 23rd Airborne Division." Two men reached out for Toad's arms, but they hadn't anticipated his fighting skill or his tongue, which lashed out and knocked two of the soldiers down as he sped up the wall. Using his tongue, he grabbed a pistol from one of the downed men and scampered towards the exit, turning and firing off rounds at random, causing everyone in the joint to duck for cover.

The two soldiers who still stood gave chase, and one of them finally remembered he was armed. He drew a bead on the fleeing Toad and shot three times. Toad spasmed and fell to the floor. The two fallen soldiers rose, one barking orders into a headset, and more entered the bar, picked up Toad's limp body, and marched out.

"Excellent," Hodge murmured. Remy smiled nervously. They followed the soldiers out into the night.

People were getting up and dusting themselves off, muttering anxiously.

Logan and Ororo exchanged a look. He stood and announced, "I'm sorry there was a -- disturbance, but it's all over now. Everything is all right. Just sit down and have a drink." He could smell the fear rolling off them in waves, and felt the frustration rise at his inability to do anything about Hodge and his kind.

He stalked over to the cage, spoke briefly to the emcee, and stripped his shirt off. He needed a fight, and since there was no way he could take on the United States Army, he was going to beat the shit out of whatever poor fool had signed up for the next round in the cage.

Angel, the emcee, announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to present to you, the Wolverine! Undefeated king of the cage! And your host here at Sam's." He repeated the message in his native Spanish, and the crowd cheered madly.

When he and Ororo had first arrived in Tijuana, after fleeing San Francisco, he'd made enough money cage-fighting to support them both. They had a brief liaison, more about comfort than sex, and settled into a friendship better than anything he'd ever known, except for that month in San Francisco.

After almost a year in Mexico, he'd won the damn bar in a bet, beating the tar out of eighteen challengers in a row one night. And then Jubilee had contacted Ororo -- Jean was in trouble and needed their help. He hadn't thought he'd be able to face her after his failure to get back to Westchester in time to help defend the mansion, but it had been easy.

She wasn't the Jean Grey-Summers he remembered. She was blowsy and drunk, careless of her appearance and most everything else. She had been with Xavier when he died, but her mind had been with Scott. As she'd held the hand of her mentor and felt him slip into death, she'd been linked to her husband and felt him die, as well.

Her nightmares were now a match for his, and it was only a matter of days before they fell on each other, ravenous for someone to ease the pain. But grief-driven sex wasn't enough for either of them, and Jean continued to drink heavily, and indulge in other types of recreational drugs as well. They were a dime a dozen in TJ and nobody messed with Logan's women. They'd stopped sleeping together regularly after a few months, but Jean clung to him with a persistence he sometimes found amazing. He knew it wasn't love, though he'd developed a fondness for her, especially on her sober days. 

And then there was Jubilee. She'd come south with Jean and stayed, working as a bartender for him. He knew she was working with the mutant underground -- she and 'Ro were both involved -- but he chose to turn a blind eye. He'd cared once, gotten involved once, and had his heart ripped out and stomped on like so many used cigarettes. He would never turn them in -- would stand with them to hell and back -- but he was done going out on a limb for strangers. All it ever got you was pain, and he already had enough of that, thanks.

So, he stood in the cage, feral and angry, awaiting his opponent.

* * *


	3. Act II

**Act II**

1.

Logan found himself restless, even after two hours of pounding drunk soldiers and federales into submission. He climbed out of the cage to the roar of the crowd and nodded at Ororo.

She followed him into his office with a full bottle of tequila. It was rare for him to sit and drink alone these days, but his anger at the sheer helplessness he felt was gnawing at him.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked softly.

"Get yourself a glass and come on back," he muttered. She smiled sadly. If he was willing to drink with her, he wasn't that bad off yet. She walked back to the bar and grabbed a glass for herself.

Meanwhile, a young couple entered the bar, turning many heads. The woman was beautiful -- incandescent, even -- her ivory skin lightly sprinkled with freckles and her chestnut hair shot through with two bolts of pure white, framing her delicate features.

The man was tall, blond and handsome; his ice-blue eyes scanned the room, searching for someone or something, as his companion led him to a table in a dark corner of the bar. He walked with a cane, favoring his right knee and occasionally shaking the woman's arm off.

"I'm fine, Rogue. Stop helping me. I can't look weak in public," he said through gritted teeth, the smile never leaving his face.

"Hush, Bobby. If your knee gets infected again, we'll never make it to Canada." 

Ororo looked over at them and the glass fell from her hand. It shattered, bringing Jubilee to her side.

"You okay, 'Ro?" the younger woman asked. Ororo simply jerked her chin in the couple's direction, and Jubilee gasped. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit."

"My feelings exactly," the weather goddess said wryly.

"No, you don't understand." Jubilee's voice dropped to a whisper and Ororo had to lean in close to hear. "They were going to buy the papers from Toad. Now they're going to be stuck and Bobby's going to end up back in a camp -- and this time, Rogue'll be with him." Ororo face held no expression. "I've got to warn them," Jubilee continued, slipping out from behind the bar.

She made her way over casually, shooing away the waiter already headed in their direction.

"What'll it be, folks?" she asked, as if they were strangers.

Bobby smiled. "I'll have a beer, Jubes. Rogue?"

Rogue was staring at the cage in the middle of the bar, lost in thought. "I'm sorry, what?" She blinked and then exclaimed, "Oh, my God! Jubilation Lee. Working as a waitress in a fight bar."

"Keep it down, Rogue," Bobby muttered, kicking her under the table.

"No one can hear me over the music," she replied. "How are you, Jubes?"

"Hangin' in. Listen, they're expecting you guys. Toad's gone -- probably dead. Two hours ago they shot him down, right in here."  
  
Bobby's lips tightened in disappointment. Rogue looked at him in concern. Jubilee didn't notice. She continued, "Look, if Remy can't help you out, I know some people. Me and 'Ro got a thing --"

"'Ro?" Rogue had gone very still.

"Yeah, me and 'Ro work the bar. It's like old home week down here. Magneto owns La Café, Remy's the governor -- if you can believe it -- and we're all here at Sam's."

"All?" Rogue had gone pale.

"Yeah. Look, I gotta get back behind the bar. A beer for the Iceman, and what do you want, Roguey? Still got a thing for Black Russians?"

"Wild Turkey, neat."

Jubilee blinked and dropped her voice to a whisper as the music from the jukebox died out. "Okay. We'll talk more about meeting up later when I come back. Be careful. Don't trust anyone here, especially not that back-stabbing Cajun bastard, okay?"

Bobby nodded and then turned back to Rogue. "What's the matter, babe? Even though he was supposed to be helping us, I can't feel bad that Toad is dead. He was our enemy for a long time. And I know everyone is down on Gambit, but I have a feeling he's gonna come through."

"Yes," she said absently. Then, seeming to come back to herself, she stood. "I'm gonna put some songs on the jukebox," she announced. "I can't take the crowd noise."

"Sure thing," he replied, taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to it before she walked away.

Ororo followed her progress across the room and met her at the jukebox. 

"Hello, Storm," Rogue said softly, seeing her reflection in the glass.

"Hello, Rogue. I never expected to see you again."

"It's been a long time."  
  
"It has. A lot of water under the bridge."

Rogue continued to look at the songs available. Ororo appeared serene, but tension was coiled tightly in her stomach. She knew now what Remy had been trying to tell them earlier, and damn the man for being so cryptic.

"Where's Logan?"

"I don't know. I have not seen him all night."

"He works here as well? When will he be back?" Rogue asked.

"Not tonight. He went home."

"Does he always leave so early? Isn't there anyone still willing to fight the Wolverine?"

"He is with Jean. They are together now."

Rogue closed her eyes and Ororo hated herself for causing the girl -- she couldn't think of her as a woman, an adult, even after all they'd been through -- pain, even after all the pain the girl had caused.

"Leave him alone, Rogue. You are bad luck for him." A CD caught Rogue's eye and she pressed some buttons. Storm looked at it and said urgently, "Please, Rogue. Don't play it."

But it was too late.

* * *

2.

The soft strains of U2 echoed through the bar.

{You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold  
You say you want your story to remain untold.  
All the promises we make  
From the cradle to the grave  
When all I want is you.}  
  


The door to Logan's office slammed open and he charged out, livid.

_You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it  
Treasure, just to look upon it  
All the riches in the night._  
  


He caught sight of Ororo at the jukebox and stormed over. He drew a fist back, ready to smash the machine. "I thought I told you to get rid of that fucking CD, 'Ro--"

And then he saw her, smelled her, God, he could practically taste her, she was so close. 

_You say you'll give me eyes in the moon of blindness  
A river in a time of dryness  
A harbor in the tempest.  
All the promises we make, from the cradle to the grave  
When all I want is you._  
  


"Logan." It was barely a whisper.

"Marie."

Bobby reached them; hobbled by his injury, he wasn't as quick as he'd once been, and he didn't want to draw attention to himself by using his power to slide across the room.

_You say you want your love to work out right  
To last with me through the night.  
You say you want diamonds on a ring of gold  
Your story to remain untold  
Your love not to grow cold.  
All the promises we break, from the cradle to the grave  
When all I want is you._

"Rogue, come on," he said softly. "Hello, Logan."

"Bobby--" she said, but it had all just clicked in Logan's head.

"You're the infamous Robert Drake." He whistled again. "I never made the connection." He couldn't believe the goofy kid who'd dated Marie in high school was the leader of the Mutant Resistance.

_All I want is you  
All I want is you_

"Why don't you join us?" Bobby asked politely.

Storm went back to the bar at Logan's nod and the other three walked to the table.

Remy re-entered the tavern. Spotting his quarry, he sauntered over to the table, seemingly oblivious to the tension surrounding its inhabitants.

"Ah, mes amis, here you all are," he said jovially. "It has been a long time, non? Mais oui, too long. Remy is so glad to see all his friends are still alive."

Jubilee came over with their drinks and Bobby said, "What'll you have, Logan?"

"Logan never drinks with the customers," Remy said, laughing.

Logan glanced at Rogue, who was looking down at her hands. "Wild Turkey, neat."

"Well, a precedent is being broken," Remy exclaimed. "It must be the presence of the most beautiful Rogue, causing our grouchy Wolverine to play nice."

They ignored him. 

"You hear a lot about Logan in Tijuana," Bobby said conversationally.

"And about Robert Drake everywhere," Logan said. 

  
Bobby inclined his head. "Interesting place you've got here. Congratulations."

"Congratulations to you, Iceman," Logan replied.

"For what?"

"Your work."

"I try," Bobby said modestly.

"Lotta people try, kid. You succeed."

"I can't get over this," Remy said. "You two all cozy. It warms my heart. Vraimént."

"Let's see," Rogue murmured, "the last time we met --"

"Vesuvio Caffe," Logan supplied.

"How nice. You remember. Of course, that was the day they bombed Oakland."

"Not an easy day to forget."

"No."

"I remember every detail. The fires, the screams… You wore blue that day; the soldiers wore green." It was burned into his mind -- the soft blue silk of her scarf and gloves, her hair blowing like a flag in the late summer San Francisco wind.

She looked up at that. "I don't wear blue anymore," she said. "When it's safe to go home again, I will." Brown eyes locked with hazel, and the world stood still for a moment.

"Amazing, Logan. The fierce Wolverine is a romantic. I knew it," Remy interjected, breaking the mood.

"Well, Rogue, it's late," Bobby said, taking advantage of the interruption, obviously unhappy about her fascination with another man. "We should be going."

Remy smiled thinly. "Oui. There is a curfew here in Tijuana these days, and it wouldn't do for any of us to be caught outside after it is in effect."

Bobby looked around at the thinning crowd. "I hope we haven't stayed too long."

"Not at all," Logan replied. He motioned Jubilee over and said, "It's on my tab."

"Another precedent gone!" Remy said. "Rogue, you are clearly a good influence on mon ami, Logan." He turned to Bobby then, and said, "I'm sorry to bring this up, old friend, but Cameron Hodge is here in town, and he wishes to see you, immediamént. Tomorrow, ten o'clock, my office, yes?"

Bobby smiled grimly. "Sure, Remy."

They all rose. 

Remy pressed a quick kiss to Rogue's gloved hand and exited. 

Rogue glanced toward the bar. "Good night, Ororo," she called. The other woman inclined her head, unsmiling. "Night, Logan."

"Night, Marie," he said gruffly.

Bobby took Rogue's arm and they also left Sam's.

"Logan's not much of a talker, huh?" Bobby said.

"He never was."

"I didn't realize you'd seen him in San Francisco."

"Oh, that. He and Ororo were there. Trying to get to Canada, just like everyone else was."  
  


"You were going to go with them?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "I'd rather not talk about it, okay, sugar?"

He sighed, and they walked silently to their hotel, each lost in their own thoughts.

* * *

3.

Logan sat alone in the dark. The staff had been gone for over an hour, the bar closed for almost two. He poured himself another shot of bourbon as the lights from the border checkpoint swept over the room. There was another glass on the table, in front of an empty chair.

He knew Ororo was behind him, but he didn't answer when she said, "Logan." She repeated it twice before he replied.

"What?"

"You should go home to bed."

"Not now. Not yet."

"Are you planning to go to bed in the near future?"

"No."

"Are you ever going to bed?" she asked, striving for a lightheartedness neither of them felt.

"No."

"Jean is waiting."

"Fuck that," he growled, knocking back another shot. It had been a long time since Storm had seen him in such a black mood.

"I am not tired, either," she said finally.

"Good. Have a drink."

"Not tonight."

"Then don't have a drink. Who gives a fuck?" he snapped.

"Logan, let us go home." She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Come. You can stay with me tonight, if you wish."

"I'm waitin' for a lady, 'Ro. I ain't leavin'."

"Logan, please, let us go. No good can come of this," she pleaded. 

He shook his head. "She's coming back. I know she is."

"We can take my car and drive all night. We can head to Enseneda and get drunk and go fishing. You used to love to go fishing with me, Logan. We can stay away until she is gone."

"Shut up and go home, Ororo," he snarled.

"I am staying right here, my friend." She poured herself a glass of water and wandered over to the jukebox, planning to remove the CD Rogue had played earlier.

"They whack Toad, and then she walks in. I guess that's the way it goes. One in, one out." They were silent for a few moments, then, "'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.'"

_Snikt_

He shredded the table at which he sat, shattering the glasses and spilling bourbon all over the floor. 

Outburst over, he collapsed into his chair, head in his hands.

"Play it, 'Ro," he growled.

"What do you mean, Logan?"

"You played it for her, you can play it for me."

"I do not know what number it is. I haven't any singles," she said quickly, falsely.

He stalked over and slammed some money on top of the jukebox. "If she can take it, I can take it. Play it, dammit!"

Ororo fumbled with the money, then did as he demanded. The strains of "All I Want Is You" sounded throughout the tavern as Logan stared off into space, remembering.

* * *

4.

// San Francisco, two years earlier...

He walked through the Farmer's Market. It was early. Since the attack on the mansion, he had taken to staying up all night most nights, drinking, fighting, fucking -- anything to help him forget he hadn't been in time.

He'd been in Canada, still questing for his stupid, unknown past. His obsession with the past had blinded him to the events of the present. And by the time he'd paid attention, it was much too late.

As soon as he'd realized what was going to happen, he'd hopped on his bike -- Scooter had forgiven him long ago for taking it -- and headed back to Westchester, but the cross-continent trip was never short, and with checkpoints and increased border security, it was even longer, since he tried to avoid the authorities whenever possible.

He'd made it back in time to find Ororo, unconscious and dehydrated in the rubble that had been the mansion. He'd found Xavier's body, Scott's body, bodies of children barely old enough to understand what had happened to them.

He'd been too late to protect Marie -- his promise broken, he poured all his energy into getting Ororo medical care and getting the hell out of Dodge.

He hadn't been able to sneak back across the border with Ororo -- she was wanted. They'd made their way across the country slowly. San Francisco was one of the few cities left that still had a living mutant population, and it was a popular destination for those seeking a way out, north to Canada, south to Mexico, or West toward Japan or Australia.

As Ororo healed, she told him about everything he'd missed in his four years away, all that the letters and phone calls had never been able to convey. Marie had grown up -- she and Bobby were second only to Scott and Jean in the minds of the students as "the perfect couple." His heart broke twice -- he hadn't been the one who made her happy, and he hadn't been able to protect her so she could be happy with the man she'd chosen.

He shook his head -- he hated thinking, these days. It only got in the way of what had to be done. 

And that's when he caught the scent. He stopped. In order to divert suspicion, because no one wanted to be caught loitering, even in the market, even at dawn, he eyed some apples warily, picking up one or two as he sniffed the air and tried to trace the scent back --

You're crazy, he told himself, even as his heart raced. He scanned the crowd and there she was  -- a woman with two locks of pure white entwined in her mahogany ponytail. Tossing the guy at the cart some change, he took an apple and followed her.

She was beautiful. Thinner than he recalled, but her deadly skin -- what he could see of it -- glowed like fresh cream, and she smelled of clean clothes and good memories. She had a basket over her arm -- little red riding hood, off to market. She appeared lost in her own thoughts, paying no attention to the man who stalked her.

"Marie." He was amazed at how harsh his voice sounded on the one hand, and amazed it even worked at all, on the other.

She swung around, startled. "Logan!" she gasped, throwing her arms around him and giving him a hug that resembled nothing in his limited memory.

She pulled back a little, keeping her arms around him, and he laughed, suddenly. He hadn't laughed in years, he thought. But with her in his arms, it was all right, everything was all right. He presented the apple he was carrying.

She laughed. "Just what I needed," she said, taking it from him and biting through the shiny red skin into the crisp white flesh. She slid the arm that was unencumbered by the basket through his and offered him a bite of the fruit. 

He took it and bit it just where her mouth had been, closing his eyes for a moment at the sweet taste of her mingled with the tartness of the apple. Swallowing, he found himself with a head full of questions. "How are you? How did you escape? Is anyone else with you?"

She smiled. "Logan, since when did you become Sherlock Holmes? So many questions. Let's just enjoy the morning -- it's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" And she laughed again.

He pulled her close for another hug. "It is now."

They spent the morning in a café, drinking espresso and talking about the past -- her past, the birthdays he'd missed but always sent a gift for, the high school graduation, the things that made their present circumstances seem so far away.

He took her to lunch at Fisherman's Wharf and laughed more in the time they spent there than he had in the twenty years of his life he could remember.

As the wind whipped in the late afternoon, Rogue looked at her watch and gasped. "Oh, my. It's so late." She stood quickly, picking up her groceries and leaning close to press a kiss to his mutton-chopped cheek, where it was safe. "I have to run, but we should see each other again before you leave San Francisco."

He grasped her hand. "Tonight? Nine o'clock? Lefty O'Doul's?"

She smiled. "You're on, sugar." 

He brought her hand to his lips and then watched her hurry off, hips swaying hypnotically.

* * *

Rogue arrived at the bar a little early. It was a neighborhood place, lots of wood and brick and pictures on the wall. She ordered a Molson and stared at the photographs. 

Logan slid into the booth quietly and said, "This place has been around forever."

Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Cool."

He lifted his beer and they clinked bottles. "Here's lookin' at you, kid," he said, grinning.

After an evening filled with some very interesting lessons in how to hustle pool for Rogue and many, many beers for Logan, the bartender signaled last call.

"I don't want this night to end," Rogue murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning against him as they left the bar.

His breath caught. "It doesn't have to," he said softly, wondering if she was really offering what he thought, hoped, she was.

She turned to face him and snaked her other arm around him. "Please?" she said. "Logan?"

He bent his head and brushed his lips lightly against hers, so quickly that her skin had no time to react. He untied the cotton bandanna around her neck and placed it over her mouth so he could kiss her fully.

The heat of her mouth warmed him, and the cloth was soon damp enough that he could almost imagine it wasn't there, that he was sliding his tongue against hers without a barrier between them.

After a seemingly endless kiss, he whispered, "Are you sure?"

"Come back to my hotel," she replied. "I'm sure."

It was something he had dreamt of, those long, cold nights in Canada. When he'd first left Westchester, his fantasies had been full of red hair and green eyes -- Jean's long legs and soft hands touching him. But over time, she was replaced by Marie's white stripes and leather gloves, the honey lilt of her accent breathing his name, and the smell of her -- somehow always clean and pure, even the first time they'd met, when she'd been on the road God only knew how long. 

She smelled of fine, French-milled soap and lemony shampoo. It clung to her letters and the little gifts she sent him -- it had been that, and not any lack of computer-knowledge, that made him resist getting an email address. Email was too ephemeral; it didn't appeal to the senses -- there was no sound of rustling paper, no feel of ripping open the envelope, no scent clinging to an email, calling him home while her words drove him away. She had been happy with Bobby, and her happiness meant more to him than his own, so he'd stayed away.

And now, almost a year after he'd given up hope of ever seeing her again, she was in his arms, kissing him, inviting him back to her hotel room. He had a hard time believing she was real; he refused to let go of her hand on their walk back to the small hostel at which she was staying.

Once inside her room, he slowly undressed her, reveling in the sight, scent, taste, feel and sound of her as he made love to her. He finally understood all that crap about the difference between fucking and making love. He poured his whole self into the act, telling her with his body what he'd been unable to ever express in words.

When they were done, she curled up against him and he whispered, "I love you, Marie."

"I love you, too, Logan. Always have." 

He felt his heart turn over at her words and he slept dreamlessly for the first time in years.

* * *

The next morning he asked her again how she'd escaped, and she told him how she and Bobby had gotten away and gone to his parents' house. They'd taken them in and hid them for a while -- long enough for Bobby to be able to mobilize some of Xavier's contacts, and make a name for himself as a crusader for mutant rights.

She had been out shopping when the Friends of Humanity busted down the door to the Drakes' Long Island home. Bobby had been taken prisoner -- too valuable to execute. His parents hadn't been so lucky. She arrived home to a burning house and two dead bodies on the front steps. Since then, she'd been running, trying to stay ahead of the police, the army, and all the other mutant-haters hunting them. She sometimes found herself in deep sympathy with Magneto, and understood more than ever why he'd tried to use her.

"No more questions," she said, then, pushing him onto his back and straddling him, taking a condom from his wallet. 

They were hardly ever apart those first two weeks. Sleeping at her hotel, so as not to disturb Ororo, who lived with Logan in a small apartment in the Haight, they spent most of their time making love. 

One afternoon, Rogue decided she wanted to see more of the city. They rode the cable cars, and Logan stared at the passing scenery unseeingly.

"Penny for your thoughts," Rogue teased.

"That's probably all they're worth," he responded.

She shrugged. "Tell me anyway."

"I was wondering why I'm so lucky. How I managed to find you, after all this time, and you feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I've never been lucky. I'm not used to it." He gave her the half-grin she found so endearing. "I like it a lot, though."

"I've been lucky since the day I hitched that ride with you, Logan. I never looked back."

He put an arm around her and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "What do you say we skip this sight-seeing crap and go back to the hotel?"

"I could go for that," she giggled, stroking a hand down his chest.

* * *

A week later, the news came. San Francisco was going to be "cleansed." Troops were being staged to the south and the government promised that mutants who didn't fight back would be treated gently.

They all knew it didn't matter what they did -- if they were caught, they would be interned, or killed outright. Logan knew Marie and Ororo were both on the FBI's most wanted list, and he figured he'd probably die defending them.

That night at the Vesuvio Caffe, they listened as bombs fell on Oakland, their recalcitrant sister city.

Logan didn't like the looks of things, so he shepherded them back to his apartment.

"They'll be here tomorrow," Logan observed as he sat down at the table with their drinks. "We should take the early train."

"What?" Rogue looked up, obviously not paying attention.

He set the bottle of Wild Turkey in front of her. "We're all out of champagne, I'm afraid," he said wryly.

Ororo poured out the bourbon and downed a shot. She, who had never been one for drinking, found herself understanding why Logan so often found solace in the bottle. Though he, of course, rarely felt its effects for any period of time. "This sort of takes the sting out of being occupied, though, does it not?" she asked, feeling the burn spread in her chest.

"You said it, 'Ro," Logan agreed. He raised his glass and gazed at Rogue. "Here's lookin' at you, kid." They clinked glasses. 

Ororo looked at the lovers and rose. "I am heading to bed, Logan. We will take the early train at Union Station, yes?"

He nodded, not noticing Rogue's grimace at the question. When Storm was gone, Logan turned back to Rogue. "Bed sounds good to me, kid. How about you?"

She nodded and he led her to the bedroom, where they made love with a passion and desperation that might have worried him, if he'd thought about it.

"I love you, Marie." He found it surprisingly easy to say to her. He'd never said it to anyone before, never expected to have the opportunity, once the troubles began, yet here they were. He was happy for the first time in his life that he could recall.

"With everything fallin' apart, we picked an odd time to fall in love," she said wistfully.

"Yeah, but then, my timing has always sucked." He pulled her into his arms and buried his head in the hollow of her neck, breathing in her scent and imprinting it on his mind. "I can't believe I wasted four years looking for a past that don't even matter, when I could have been with you," he murmured.

Her eyes filled with tears as he kissed her hungrily. "It's strange how I still know so little about you," she whispered.

"I don't know much more about you, kid, except that you taste like heaven and I love you." He kissed her again, marveling at his sudden turn toward the poetic.

"Be serious, sugar. You and Ororo are in danger. You need to leave."

"**We** need to leave, Marie."

"Yes, yes, of course, we--"

"The train leaves for Vancouver at six am. We can leave here at five and still make it easily. We'll just stay up all night," he said, kissing her yet again.

"No, I, I have to go back to my hotel," she said quickly. "I have things I need to pack. I'll meet you at the station, okay?"

"Okay. At quarter to six." He was silent for a few minutes, thinking. Then, "Hey, why don't we get married in Vancouver?"

"That's too far ahead to plan, Logan."

"I guess it is. What about the engineer? Can he marry us on the train?"

"Oh, sugar--" 

"Well, why not? The captain of a ship can -- " Rogue started to cry softly.

He gathered her closer. "Hey, hey, what's wrong, kid?"

"I love you so much, and I hate this war so much. Oh, it's a crazy world. Anything can happen. If you don't get away -- I mean, if something separates us -- wherever you end up, I want you to know--" She stopped, her voice breaking. He kissed her tears through the silk of her scarf. "Kiss me as if it were the last time, Logan," she begged.

He stared into her deep, brown eyes and then did as she requested. He pressed her to the mattress and trailed kisses along her body, stopping to pay his respects at her breasts before continuing his way down her stomach. He settled the scarf between her legs and kissed her there, slowly, languorously, as though they had all the time in the world. He savored the taste of her as she came, biting her own hand to keep from screaming and waking Storm. 

Then he raised himself up and, after sliding the condom on, he entered her. Again, he took his time, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting himself deeply into her. Her hips rose to meet his and her eyes stayed open and locked on his as they came within seconds of each other. 

Exhausted, she huddled next to him and slept.

When he awoke, she was gone.

* * *

It was pouring and there were crowds of people everywhere, pushing and screaming, all trying to get onto the train to Vancouver. It was the last train out before the army would arrive to occupy the city.

Logan put his duffel bag down and glanced at the clock above the schedule board.

"All aboard, last train leaving in three minutes. All aboard!" came the announcement over the loud speaker.

Logan stared at the clock, and said, "Where is she? Have you seen her?" when Storm materialized at his side. "And can't you do anything about this damned rain?"

She knew he was upset at Rogue's lateness, so she ignored his last question.

"I cannot find her, Logan. She checked out of the hotel. But this was left there for you." She handed him a note. 

"Logan, I can't go with you or ever see you again. Don't ask why. Just know that I love you. Go and be safe. Please. Love, Marie."

He could smell her scent on it, and mixed in with the ink was the smell of salt, of tears. The rain was washing the ink away. He roared and fought the urge to pop his claws.

"I'm going to find her," he growled.

"Logan, no," Ororo pleaded. "The train is leaving. Please. We must get away."

"Goddammit, 'Ro! I can't leave her here. Not after finding her again."

"Logan, please --"

"You go. I have to find her."

"I shall not leave you," the weather witch said softly, her eyes beginning to go white as she used her power to calm the wind and the rain.

The train pulled out of the station and the sky began to clear.

Logan crumpled the note and shoved it in his pocket, determined to find Marie before it was too late. //

* * *

5.

Logan looked at the wreckage he'd made of the table. "I need another drink," he mumbled, going to the bar.

Ororo took a broom from the back room and began sweeping up the broken glass.

The door opened, and they both turned to see Rogue standing there. She hesitated a moment before walking over to the bar where Logan stood.

"Logan, we need to talk." 

He could smell her nervousness, but he knew her, and this was her determined face. He set the bottle of bourbon on the bar with a thump. "Have a drink with me. I saved some Wild Turkey for you."

"No, Logan. Not tonight," she said.

"Especially tonight."

She sat on one of the barstools and searched his face, but it was expressionless, the hazel eyes cold.

He shrugged and poured himself a drink.

"Please?" There was something in her voice he couldn't quite place.

"Why did you have to come to Tijuana? There are other places," he said.

"I wouldn't have come if I'd known you were here. Believe me. I didn't know," she pleaded.

"It's funny how your voice is exactly the same. I can still hear it. 'Logan, I love you. We'll be together forever,'" he said mockingly.

"Please don't, Logan. Don't. I understand how you feel--"

He slammed the glass down on the bar. "You understand?" he growled. "You don't fucking understand **anything**." He took a deep breath. "How long did we have together, honey?"

"I, I didn't count the days."

"Well, I did. Every frickin' one of them. Mostly I remember the last one. The big finale. A guy standin' on a platform in the rain with a stupid look on his face, because someone had just ripped out his insides." He ignored the glass and took a long swallow directly from the bottle.

"Can I tell you a story?" Rogue asked.

"Is there a big finale?" he said caustically.

"I don't know yet how it ends."

"Go ahead. Tell it." He waved his hand. "Maybe you'll think of something as you go along."

"It's about a girl who discovered that she'd never be able to touch another human being ever again. She ran away from home and met a man, a man who promised to take care of her, who saved her life three times. She loved him. She did, more than anything. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. She looked up to him, worshipped him, even. But she knew him, knew he didn't feel that way about her, so she moved on, learned to love someone else.

"A boy her own age, who tried very hard to make up for all the bad things in her life. He made her laugh and held her when she cried. He wasn't afraid to touch her. He was **there** when the other man, the man she loved, wasn't. And she decided she couldn't spend her whole life waiting, so she gave up on the dream of the man, and let herself love the reality of the boy, who became a man she could respect and cherish."

"That's real pretty, Rogue." She flinched almost imperceptibly at the use of her name, the one he never called her. "I heard a story once. As a matter of fact, I've heard a lot of stories in my time. They usually go along with the smell of cheap perfume and the sound of bad music on the speakers. 'Mister, I met a man once when I was a kid,' is how they always started. I guess neither one of our stories is funny."

His face changed, his eyes honing in on her intently. "Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Frosty or were there others in between? Or aren't you the kind of girl who tells?"

His head snapped back from the unexpected punch she threw at him. Before he could react, she was gone. He slumped down, putting his head on the bar.

* * *


	4. Act III

**Act III**

1.

Remy gazed at Hodge across his desk. He wondered how long he'd have to put up with the scumbag who made all their lives so miserable. Hodge had risen to power through his association with the Friends of Humanity, who'd gone from a fringe group of anti-mutant fanatics to a powerful player in the politics of the United States. Hodge had been the one who organized them, lifted them out of a mode of operation that consisted solely of random violence against mutants and turned them into a political party, swaying people with his charisma and his promises of safety from mutants.

The Cajun shuffled some papers, waiting for the other man to tell him what he'd come here to say. Sometimes Remy hated himself, his life, what he'd become. He thought back to the night before, the disdain in Storm's eyes as she looked at him. They'd been lovers once, and while she forgave him his sordid past (she'd been a thief herself, on the streets of Cairo, long ago), she couldn't forgive his collaboration with the government that had killed her friends. She never realized that he couldn't forgive himself, either. It wasn't the first time a venture had spun out of his control, but it was the worst, and he swore it'd be the last.

"I strongly suspect that Toynbee left the letters of transit with Mr. Logan. I suggest you search that bar immediately and thoroughly," Hodge was saying.

Remy said, "If he has the letters, he's much too smart to let you find them there."

"You give him too much credit," Hodge said dismissively. "He's just a bare-knuckle brawler who got lucky."

"Logan may look like a brute, but he's smarter than you think," Remy muttered.

"What was that?" Hodge asked sharply.

"He's a dangerous man in a fight," Remy lied smoothly.

Hodge shrugged. "Even he can't take on a troop of well-trained soldiers." He thought for a moment. "As for Drake -- he should be watched twenty-four hours a day."

"Already taken care of, mon ami. You will be happy to know he is on his way here at this very moment," Remy reassured him.

* * *

2.  
Rogue and Bobby pushed their way through the crowd in the lobby of the building. Everyone wanted to see Señor LeBeau because he controlled the exit visas. Rogue saw a young couple, about the same age as her and Bobby, talking animatedly with a man in a uniform. The couple were obvious mutants, the woman beautiful with dead-white skin and hair and red eyes, the man with tan fur and a tail.

"There's nothing we can do," the officer told them. The man led the woman away as she cried in his arms.

Bobby's hand on her arm got her attention. "Rogue, let's go." His limp was more pronounced this morning -- the humidity wasn't good for his knee.

They entered Remy's office and he stood and bowed slightly. "I am delighted to see you both. Did you have a good night's rest?"

"I slept like a baby," Bobby replied.

"That's strange. No one is supposed to sleep well in Tijuana." He chuckled, but no one else joined in.

"Can we just get on with it?" Bobby asked coldly.

"But of course. Please sit down," Remy replied, indicating the two empty chairs.

They sat.

"Very well, Mr. Drake," Hodge began, his voice as cold as Bobby's had been. "Let us speak frankly. You are an escaped prisoner of the United States of America. So far, you have been fortunate in eluding us. You have reached Tijuana. It is my duty to see that you stay here, or are brought back to the United States and returned to prison. While the extradition treaty is still in process, we cannot take you out of the country, but when it passes, you will be mine."

"Whether or not you succeed is, of course, the question," Bobby said smoothly.

"Not at all. Governor LeBeau must sign every exit visa." He looked at Remy. "Monsieur, do you think it's possible that Mr. Drake will receive a visa?"

"Mais non, I'm afraid not," Remy said, shaking his head. "My regrets, Bobby."

"Hey, maybe I'll like it in Tijuana," Bobby said.

"And the lady?" Hodge asked.

"Don't you worry 'bout me, sugar," Rogue said with false sweetness.

"Is that it?" Bobby asked.

"Don't be in such a rush, young man. You have a bit of time. You may be here in Tijuana indefinitely -- or you may leave for Vancouver tomorrow -- on one condition."

Rogue gasped and Bobby leaned back in his chair. "And that is?"

"You know the other leaders of the underground movement in New York, St. Louis, Chicago, Dallas, San Francisco."

"Even in DC," Bobby said with quiet pride.

"Yes, even in DC. If you will give me their names and their exact locations, you will have your visa tomorrow morning."

"And the honor of having served your country," Remy interjected, though Hodge didn't get the irony.

"I was in an American internment camp for a year. That's honor enough for a lifetime," Bobby replied, stretching his injured leg before him.

"You'll give us the names?" Hodge pressed.

"If I didn't give them to you in a concentration camp where you had more persuasive methods," he tapped his knee, "at your disposal, what makes you think I'll give them to you now?" He leaned forward suddenly, blue eyes burning with icy conviction. "And what if you do track them all down and kill them? What if you murdered all of us? From every corner of the globe, hundreds, thousands, would take our place. Even the American government can't kill that fast."

"Mr. Drake, you have a reputation for eloquence that I now understand. But in one respect, you are mistaken. You said the enemies of America could be replaced. But there is one exception. No one could take your place in the event anything... unfortunate should occur while you were trying to escape."

"You wouldn't dare interfere with me here, Mr. Secretary. Mexico is still a sovereign nation. Any violation of sovereignty would reflect badly on you and on the States."

"By the way, Bobby," Remy said, "last night you were looking for Toad?" Bobby nodded, wondering what his old friend was up to. "You had a message for him?"

  
"Nothing important," Bobby replied nonchalantly.

"That's good, since he's dead." He noted their lack of response. "I suppose someone at Sam's told you what happened." They nodded. He sighed.

"Are we done here?" Bobby said abruptly, rising.

"For now," Hodge replied.

"See you around," Bobby said, walking out, his hand on Rogue's elbow.

They bumped into the officer they'd seen earlier, talking to the albino woman. "Excuse me, Señor," he said, "another visa problem has come up."

Remy stood and smoothed his jacket. "Show her in."

"Yes, sir."  
  


* * *

3.

That afternoon...

Logan walked through the flea market and entered La Café just as Magneto emerged with the tan-furred mutant and his albino bride. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Crane. But it's possible you can negotiate with LeBeau."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Lehnsherr," Mr. Crane said, leading his wife away. Logan looked at her appreciatively, and her expression grew thoughtful.

"Hello, Erik."

"Good afternoon, Logan. Are you going to be friendly or is this one of those days where you try to kill me?" he asked genially. A man who can control metal is the only one unafraid of the man with the metal claws.

"I'm just here to pick up my shipment," Logan grumbled.

"No rush. I'll have it sent over. Sit. Drink with me."

"I never drink this early," he lied. "And every time you send my shipment over, it's just a little short."

Magneto laughed. "Carrying charges, my dear boy, carrying charges. Please, sit down. Have some coffee. I need to talk to you, anyway."

Logan sat and scowled at Erik. He'd learned it was easier to play nice with ol' Magnethead, because otherwise, he'd end up splayed out on the ground and have to listen to him anyway. Maybe he was getting soft, but it was more comfortable to sit at a table.

They were silent as a waiter brought a silver coffee pot and two mugs. Erik poured the coffee and said, "The news about dear Toad upset me very much."

"You old hypocrite," Logan growled, but not unpleasantly. He'd developed an odd fondness for his old enemy. It's true, he reflected, war makes for strange bedfellows.  "You don't feel any sorrier about Toad than I do."

Magneto eyed him closely. "Of course not. What upsets me is that he's dead and no one knows where those letters of transit are."  
  


"Practically no one," Logan corrected.

"If I could lay my hands on those letters, I'd make a fortune. And be able to get out of this stinkhole of a town."

"So could I, and I'm a lousy businessman."

Erik smiled. "Yes, but you're much more intelligent than I ever gave you credit for. You run rings around Victor." He paused for a moment, remembering another fallen comrade. Shaking his head and returning to the matter at hand, he said, "I have a proposition for whomever has those letters, Logan. I will handle the entire transaction, get rid of the letters, take all the risk, for just a small percentage."

"And the carrying charges?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"But of course there will be a few... incidental expenses. That is the proposition I have for whomever has the letters."

"I'll mention it when I see him," Logan said dryly.

Erik put his coffee cup down and leaned forward. "I'll put my cards on the table, Wolverine. I think you know where those letters are."

Logan snorted. "You and everyone else in town." He looked out the window and saw Rogue and Bobby walking through the market. Bobby leaned close and whispered in her ear. She smiled and he walked toward the café. "Anyway, that's why I came over. I wanted to give Gambit and his men time to ransack the bar."

"Don't be a fool, Logan. Take me into your confidence. You need a partner," Lehnsherr said persuasively.

Logan paid no attention. He stared out the window at Rogue, who was holding up a sheer scarf at one of the booths in the market.

He stood. "I'll see ya 'round, Mags." Magneto curled his lip in distaste at the nickname, but said nothing as Logan walked to the door.

Bobby came in as Logan was exiting. "He's at that table," Logan said, jerking his head toward Magneto.

"Thanks," Bobby replied, puzzled.

* * *

4.

Rogue was browsing through the scarves while Bobby talked to Magneto about procuring exit visas. She didn't think she could see the old man again without trying to kill him, even now. 

She held up a square of olive cotton shot with gold thread. It was pretty sheer, and she'd always been fond of green.

"You will not find a treasure like this in all of Mexico, señorita. Seven hundred pesos," the vendor said, smiling at her.

"You're bein' cheated," Logan said, walking up behind her.

She looked at him briefly and nodded politely, as if they were passing acquaintances. She turned back to the vendor. "Thanks, but I'm just lookin'."

"Ah, the señorita is a friend of Logan's. For friends of Logan we have a small discount. Did I say seven hundred pesos? You can have it for three hundred."

"About last night--" Logan started.

"It doesn't matter," Rogue said, still not looking at him.

"Ah, for special friends of Logan's, we have a special discount. One hundred pesos."

"Your story had me a little confused. Or maybe it was the bourbon." He shook his head. "I had a lot in a short time."

The vendor was still trying. "I have some tablecloths and linens --"

"Thank you, but I'm really not interested," Rogue said.

"Please! One minute. Wait!" the vendor said, running to the back of the booth.

Rogue pretended to be interested in the scarves lying on the counter.

"Why did you come back? To tell me why you ran out on me?"

"Yes."

"Well, you can tell me now. I'm sober."

"I don't think so, Logan."

"Why not? I think I'm entitled. After all, I got stuck with three train tickets and it took me and 'Ro two weeks to get out of that hellhole once it was occupied."

She sniffed and faced him. "I know, and I'm sorry for that. I never wanted you to miss the train. But last night, you looked at me with such hatred... the Logan I knew never looked at me like that. Ever.   
  
"So, I'll be leaving Tijuana soon and we'll never see each other again. We knew very little about each other when we were in love in San Francisco, and even less for the few days we knew each other back in New York. If we leave it that way, maybe we'll remember those days -- the good times -- and not Tijuana, not last night."

"Did you run out on me because you couldn't take it? Knowin' what it would be like, hidin' from the police, runnin' all the time?" he pressed.

"You can believe that if you want to." Her eyes fell and she sniffed again.

"Well, I'm not runnin' anymore, Marie. I'm settled now. I live above a bar, sure, but it's mine -- walk up a flight. I'll be expecting you."

She bit her lower lip, then, "What about Jean?"

He laughed harshly. "What about her? Scott is dead. She needs someone to look after her. 'Ro and I--"

"Is 'Ro fucking her?"

"Jesus, Marie, what a question." But he could tell he was blushing, just a little. Dammit, **she** was the one who'd left him for the Popsicle. She didn't have any right to question his behavior.

"Since when did you get all delicate, Logan?"

He ignored the question. "Remember, one flight up. I'll be expecting you."

"No, Logan. You don't understand. Bobby is my husband -- and he was, even when we met in San Francisco."

She walked into the café, leaving him staring after her, stunned and unbelieving.

* * *

5.

Rogue joined her husband at the table with Magneto in the café. Even facing him would be easier than continuing to talk to -- torment, really -- Logan. She'd wanted to hurt him, the way he'd hurt her last night, but the look on his face when she told him just about broke her heart all over again. She couldn't bear it.

Erik smiled absently at her. "I was just telling Robert --" he broke off and took a good look at her. "My dear child, how are you?" he asked. "No hard feelings, I hope."

"Don't push me, Erik," she said in a low, hard voice.

"Well, as I was saying, I am not able to help Mr. Drake. I am an influential man here in Tijuana, but it would be worth my life to help him. And I like my life, circumscribed as it is."

"Still willing to kill for the cause, but never die for it, eh, Erik?" she taunted.

"Rogue," Bobby warned.

Magneto's eyes hardened. "I am willing to investigate getting an exit visa for you, girl. Don't be insolent."

"You mean for me to go on alone?"

"Yes, you alone would go," Lehnsherr confirmed.

"I'll stay here and keep trying. Jubes thinks --" Bobby said.  
  


"We might as well be frank, Robert," Magneto interrupted. "Your washed-up X-Men friends won't be able to help you. Not even the Gambit. It would take a miracle to get you out of Tijuana. And the Americans have outlawed miracles."

"Anyway, we're only interested in **two** visas," Rogue said.

"Please, Rogue, don't be hasty," Bobby pleaded.

But she was adamant. "No, Bobby. No."

"You two will want to discuss this," Magneto said diplomatically. "I will be at the bar." And he suited his actions to his words.

"Rogue, please. I won't let you stay here. You must get to Canada. Believe me, I'll join you, somehow."

"But Bobby, if the situation were reversed, if I had to stay and there were only a visa for one, would you take it?" She stroked his hand gently.

"Yes," he replied unconvincingly.

Rogue smiled. She didn't believe him for a moment. "I see. When I had trouble getting out of Los Angeles, why didn't you leave me there? And when I was sick for two weeks in Albuquerque, and you were in danger every minute, why didn't you leave me then?"

"I meant to," he said, "but something always came up." He raised her gloved hand to his lips. "I love you so much, Rogue. Without you --"

She smiled, and even at the bar, Magneto felt the warmth of it. "Your secret is safe with me, Iceman," she teased. She glanced toward the bar. "He's waiting for our answer."

They rose and walked over to him. "We've decided that, for now, we'll go on looking for two exit visas. Thanks, though." And he stuck out his hand.

Erik shrugged. "Such an honorable young man you are. Quite a credit to Charles," he said sadly. "Good luck. And be careful." His eyes flicked toward the bazaar. "You know you're being followed?"

Bobby smiled. "Of course. It becomes second nature."

Magneto looked at Rogue again. "I think that in one respect, you are a very lucky young man, Robert Drake. I am moved to make one more suggestion, though why, I don't know. It cannot possibly profit me. But for the cause ofmutants everywhere," he sighed. "Have you heard about Toad and the letters of transit?"  
  


"Yes," Bobby replied warily.

"Those letters were not found on him when they arrested him."

There was a moment of silence as that sunk in.

"Do you know where they are?" Rogue asked.

"Not for sure, my dear, but I would bet a great deal of money that Toad left them with the Wolverine."

Bobby noticed that Rogue's face fell. "Logan?" he asked.

"He's a tough customer, that Logan. One never knows what he'll do, or why. But it is worth a chance." He smiled disingenuously. "And he always did have a soft spot for this young lady," he said, flicking her white locks with a careful finger.

Bobby flushed at that, but kept his voice level. "Thank you very much. Take care."

"You are most welcome."

* * *


	5. Act IV

**Act IV**

1.

That same night...

Logan sat at a table in a dark corner of the bar, watching. Jubilee brought over a bottle of bourbon and a glass. Taking the cigar out of his mouth, he rumbled, "Thanks, Jubes."

"You're getting to be your own best customer, Wolvie," she scolded. He snorted and she walked away.

Gambit wandered over. "Well, Logan, look at you. Beginnin' to live life like a Frenchman. Remy be proud to know you."

Logan frowned. "That was some going-over you guys gave my place this afternoon. We just barely got it cleaned up in time to open." 

He poured out two fingers of bourbon for the Cajun.

"Well, I told Hodge he wouldn't find the letters here, but I told my men to be especially destructive. It impresses men like him." He took a sip of bourbon and grimaced. "Logan, have you got the letters of transit?"

"Remy, are you pro-American or free-mutant?"

"Serves me right for asking a direct question. Forget it."

Logan's attention was caught by the couple entering the bar. 

"Looks like you're too late," he said.

"Huh?" Remy said.

"Jeannie's taken up with the enemy," Logan said, nodded his head in her direction. She was with an American soldier.

Remy smiled ruefully. "Who knows? In her own way, she may constitute an entire second front." He sighed. "I think it's time for me to flatter Hodge for a little while. See you later, Logan." He got up and strolled away.

Jean and her soldier boy were at the bar. She was already a little tipsy. "Ororo!"

"We'll have shots of tequila," the soldier said, "and two Coronas with lime."

"Put a whole row of 'em right here, 'Ro," Jean said, running her hand along the bar.

One of the local men leaned over to Jean and said, "Hey, what are you doing with that gringo asshole?"

"What are you butting in for?" Jean shot back.

"I am butting in--"

"It's none of your goddamn business, what I do, okay?" she interrupted him.

"What? What'd he say to you?" the American demanded.

"What I said is none of your business," the Mexican spat.

"It is now, motherfucker," the soldier said, swinging a fist at the Mexican, who ducked, and wasn't shy about swinging back.

"Stop! Stop it! Please, stop!" Jean shouted. 

Remy and Hodge rose to see what the commotion was.

Some American soldiers sitting near by got up and walked over, just as Logan appeared and separated the two men. "Fighting is for the cage only. You got that? You wanna fight me?" The American shook his head rapidly. "Didn't think so," Logan continued, a feral grin on his face. "I don't like disturbances in my place. Either lay off politics or get out. I got no problem tossin' your ass in the street."

Everyone sat down and Hodge said, "See, LeBeau? The situation isn't as under control as you thought."

"Mr. Secretary, we're tryin' to cooperate with your government, but we can't tell the people how to feel."

Hodge's eyes narrowed. "Are you entirely certain which side you're on, Governor LeBeau?" He stressed the word "governor" and Remy grimaced.

"Remy have no conviction, if that's what you mean. I side with the winners. Right now, that's the American government."

"And if that should change?" Hodge asked with a deadly smile.

"Surely the American government doesn't admit that's a possibility?" Remy parried, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag.

"We are concerned in more ways than one about Tijuana. We know that every city in Mexico and Canada is honeycombed with traitors waiting for their chance. Waiting, perhaps, for a leader," Hodge said.

"A leader like Drake?" Remy asked casually.

"Yes. I've been thinking. At first I thought it was too dangerous to let him leave Tijuana. Now I think it may be too dangerous to let him stay."

"Remy sees what you mean, mon ami. And now, I must leave you for a while, Monsieur."

He got up and made his way to where Carl the waiter was taking action on the fights. 

* * *

2.

Mrs. Crane, the albino woman from that afternoon at La Café, walked over to Logan.

"Mr. Logan?"

"Just Logan," he said, his eyes roaming her voluptuous figure appreciatively.

"We met this afternoon, briefly. I'm Nina Crane. Could I speak to you for just a second?"

"You already are." He looked at her face then. "How the hell did you get in here? You're not old enough to drink."

"I came with Monsieur LeBeau."

"He ain't French, ya know," Logan muttered. 

"Excuse me?"

"I should have known," he said, a little louder.

"My husband is with me, too."

"He is? Well, well. The Gambit's getting broadminded. Sit down. Bourbon?" She shook her head. "Mind if I do?"

"No." Logan poured himself a drink. "Mr. -- Logan, what kind of man is Mr. LeBeau?"

"Oh, he's just like any other man, only more so," Logan replied.

"No, I mean," she stumbled over her words a bit, "is he trustworthy? Is his word--"

"Wait a minute. Who told you to ask me that?"

"He did," she replied, blushing. Logan watched the pale pink creep up her white skin.

"Figures. Where's your husband?"

She jerked her head toward the cage. "Trying to win enough money for our exit visas." Logan looked over at the tan-furred mutant waiting just outside the cage for his turn to get beaten by one of the local fighters in Logan's stable. Nina sighed. "Of course, he's going to lose."

Logan stared at her intently. "How long have you been married?"

"Two months. We came from Texas. Things are bad there. I don't know why we ended up here. Things are terrible back home Mr. -- I mean, Logan. We didn't want to raise our children there."

Logan sighed. "So you decided to go to Canada?" he asked wearily.

She smiled. "I wanted to go to Caracas, but Billy is set on Canada. We don't have much money, though, and traveling is so expensive and difficult. And then Mr. LeBeau has been so kind. He wants to help us."

"I'll bet," Logan muttered.

"He tells me he can get us exit visas, but we have no money," she continued.

"Does he know that?"

"Oh, yeah."

"And he's still willing to give you a visa?"

"Yes."

"And you wanna know --"

"If he'll keep his word," she finished.

Logan thought for a moment. Then, "He always has."

They were silent for a few minutes. Nina looked disturbed, and finally she blurted, "You're a man, Mr. Logan. If someone loved you very much, so much that your happiness was the only thing in the whole world that she wanted, but she did a bad thing to make certain of it, could you forgive her?"

Logan stared off into space. "Nobody ever loved me that much," he murmured.

Nina didn't hear. She continued talking. "And if he never knew, and the girl kept this bad thing locked up in her heart? That would be all right, wouldn't it?"

"You want my advice?" Logan asked harshly.

"Please."

"Go back to Texas."

She gasped. "But you must know what it means to us to escape from the persecution!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "But if Billy ever found out -- he's such a little boy in some ways. I'm so much older than him, sometimes."

"Yeah, well, life sucks, kid. Everybody's got problems. Yours may work out. Consider yourself lucky." He rose and walked away, leaving her alone at the table, too demoralized to move. 

* * *

3.

He was at the bar when Bobby and Rogue walked in. "Hey."

"Here we are again," Bobby said.

"Well, I suppose Rogue never could resist a cage fight," he said.

"We'll sit at the bar," she said coolly.

"I'll go play your favorite song," he responded, walking toward the jukebox.

Ororo looked at them. "What will it be?"

"Storm!" Bobby exclaimed. "How are you?"

"I am fine, Bobby. No doubt you would like a beer?" she said, smiling.

"Yeah." He turned to Rogue. "What about you, babe?"

"Wild Turkey, neat?" Ororo asked, her smile growing strained.

Rogue inclined her head, watching Logan talk to the brute of a man who then climbed into the ring with Billy Crane.

"Tonight we have Billy Crane facing your favorite and mine - Los Vatos!" Angel announced.

The strains of "All I Want Is You" echoed through the bar as Billy Crane somehow managed to land a punch against the man facing off against him in the ring.

The crowd roared, but it was soon obvious that Los Vatos was off his game. He went down and got up twice before Crane leveled him with a punch to the jaw and then whipped him with his tail.

"Hermanos, tonight I've seen it all," Angel announced. "That was the last fight of the evening. Please come back again soon."

Crane came over to Logan, who shoved a wad of cash into his hand. "Don't come back," he said roughly.

One of the soldiers complained to Storm. "Hey, is this place honest?"

"Honest?" Storm said fervently. "As the day is long." She grinned as Nina ran up and hugged Logan. 

"Thank you, Mr. Logan."

"Your husband's just a lucky guy, Mrs. Crane."

"Thank you, anyway," she said, rushing off and grabbing her husband. They cornered Remy and she said, "We'll be at your office at six tomorrow morning."

"That's nice, chere. Remy don't show up until ten. I'm very happy for you both. Still, it is trés strange that you won, non?" He looked over at Logan then, who was staring hungrily at Rogue from his dark corner. "Well, maybe not so strange. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you so much, Monsieur LeBeau," she said, squeezing his hand before leading her husband out into the warm Mexican night.

Ororo told Jubilee what Logan had done and the younger woman smiled brilliantly. When Logan made his way back to the bar, she called out, "Wolvie, you've done a beautiful thing," and she hugged him tight.

"Get back to work, Jubes," he grumbled good-naturedly, and Rogue watched surreptitiously as the hint of a blush stained his cheekbones.

Ororo poured him a shot of bourbon as he glanced in Rogue's direction again. Their eyes met and they both looked away quickly.

"Remy knew it. You are a romantic at heart, mon ami."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?" Logan asked.

"Why do you interfere with my little romances, Logan?"

Logan snorted. "Call it a gesture in honor of love."

"Well, I forgive you this time," Remy replied good-naturedly. "But I'll be here tomorrow with a gorgeous blonde and it will make Remy very happy if she loses." He clapped Logan on the shoulder and walked away, smiling.

* * *

4.

"So, Logan, do you have a minute?" Bobby asked, trying to turn his attention away from Rogue. He didn't like the way the man stared at her, as if she were a glass of water and he'd just returned from forty days in the desert.

"I'm listenin'."

"Isn't there someplace more -- private? I'd rather not have the whole town know what we're talking about," Bobby said.

"My office." Logan jerked his head back toward the door.

"Right." Bobby turned and pressed a kiss to Rogue's hair. "I'll be back in a few."

She smiled tightly and nodded.

Jean leaned over then, recognizing the young woman sitting three seats away from her.

"Rogue! How are you?" she exclaimed, jumping off her barstool unsteadily and leaning in for a reckless hug.

Rogue pulled away gently. "Be careful, Jean. My skin--"

"Right. I forgot." Jean laughed. "I've forgotten a lot of things, Rogue, but never the way you looked at Logan, or the way he looked at you."

"Jean--"

"Oh, you'll have him, but you'll never keep him. He wanted me for years. And now that he's had me, he's off chasing you. Don't give in, Rogue. Yeah, sure, it's a great fuck, but it's not worth it." She sniffed. "Scott would be so disappointed in me," she cried, giving Rogue another hug and burying her face in the other woman's chest, sobbing.

Rogue's eyes grew wide as she stroked Jean's hair gently. Ororo was at the other end of the bar, serving a group of fishermen, and Jubilee was nowhere to be found.

"It's okay, Jean. Scott would understand," she whispered finally. "He knew how much you loved him."

"Oh, I did, Rogue. I so did. Do. I still love him. I miss him. I hear him dying, in my head. You know what that's like, don't you? To have the man you love in your head, but not in your arms?"

"I do, Jeannie. I do," Rogue said gently.

"I knew you'd understand, Rogue. Don't let them take him away from you. Don't."

"It's okay, Jean," she whispered, brushing the redhead's tears away with a gloved thumb. 

Ororo came over and put a cup of coffee on the bar. "Have some coffee, Jean," she said. Jean sipped quietly at the mug. The weather goddess turned to Rogue. "Thank you."

Rogue shrugged. "Anyone would have done it, 'Ro." She hesitated before asking, "Is she like this all the time?"

Storm sighed. "Usually, she's much better after she cries."

* * *

5.

Bobby and Logan sat in Logan's office.

"You know how important it is for me to get out of Tijuana, Logan. You know what I've been doing. Without the Professor, without Scott, I've been lucky to become one of the leaders of our cause. You know what it means to the work, to the lives of thousands of people, that I be able to reach Canada and continue my work," Bobby said passionately.

"I'm not interested in politics, kid. The problems of the world ain't my department. I'm just a saloon-keeper," Logan returned, lighting a cigar. He offered one to the younger man, who shook his head.

"I know you worked for the Professor, even though you never came back. I know you gave him tips on mutants in need of help, even showed up and rescued Scott and Storm once in a while. And I know what you were doing in San Francisco, Logan, so don't give me that 'I don't care' bullshit."

"What of it?" Logan snarled.

"It's strange how you always happen to wind up fighting on the side of the underdog, isn't it?"

"Yeah. It's a very expensive hobby, too. But then, I never was much of a businessman." He stood, and Bobby stood with him.

"Are you enough of a businessman to appreciate an offer of one hundred thousand dollars?" Bobby asked.

"I appreciate it, but I don't accept it," Logan said.

"I'll make it two hundred thousand," Bobby offered.

"Look, Snowflake, you could make it a million dollars, three million even, and my answer would still be the same."

"There must be some reason you won't let me have them," Bobby said.

"There is. Ask your wife."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, ask your wife."

"My wife?" Bobby repeated it, puzzled.

"Yeah."

Bobby laughed, then, bitterly. "This is about you wanting Rogue and Rogue being with me?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You abandon her for four **fucking** years, and then you get upset that she moved on?"

"Shut up, kid."

"No, I don't think so." Bobby was working up a head of steam now. "I was there, Logan. I saw her waiting for you every day. I held her when she cried because there was no letter, no phone call for weeks at a time."

He was up in Logan's face now. Logan was so tense Bobby swore he could hear the metal in the man's body grinding from the strain. 

"I said, **shut up**, Drake."

Bobby overrode him. "I comforted her every Christmas while you were off doing God knows what -- or who -- because every year she only wanted one thing, and she never, ever got it. So, don't play it like this, Logan. Do the right thing for once in your sorry fucking life and sell me the papers. Not for me, not for the cause, but for her. Do something for Rogue for once, why don't you?"

"The only reason I haven't gutted you is because of her, bub--" Logan began when the sound of men singing interrupted.

He flung the door open to see a group of American officers surrounding the jukebox singing "We Will Rock You."

Remy sat at the end of the bar; catching Logan's eye, he raised an eyebrow.

Bobby's lips tightened and he pushed past Logan and walked toward the bar. "Jubes, you control the volume?" She nodded. "And you've got a stereo back there?" Another nod. "Let me see what CDs you have." She handed them over the bar and he rifled through them quickly before settling on one. "Put it on. Track eighteen." He'd known Storm would have something fitting, but he'd never have guessed how perfect it would be.

Jubilee shot a glance at Logan, who nodded once. She put the CD in and lowered the volume on the jukebox. The soldiers sang louder, angrily, to compensate for the loss of their anthem.

The sound of Mahalia Jackson's voice singing "We Shall Overcome" filled Sam's and Bobby sang along with it. Other people began standing and singing the simple hymn as well. Jean stood, tears in her eyes again, clutching her coffee mug and adding her voice to the song.

The soldiers raised their voices in a vain attempt to drown out the singing, but they were unsuccessful. One by one, they sat down, disheartened and silent. Hodge looked over at Remy angrily. 

After the first chorus, everyone in the place was on their feet, singing fervently of the day when peace and freedom would reign again.

Rogue watched her husband intently, eyes shining with unshed tears, her heart swelling with pride at all that he'd become. Logan watched Rogue.

Finally, the song was over. Jean raised her mug above her head and shouted, "Give us liberty or give us death!"

The crowd took up the cheer, causing Hodge's face to become even more pinched. He strode over to Remy and snapped, "You see what I mean? If Drake's presence in a tavern can inspire this sort of unfortunate demonstration, what more will his presence in Tijuana bring on?" He slapped a hand down on the bar. "I suggest you shut this place down at once."

Remy looked at him, surprised. "But everyone's havin' such a good time. Laissez les bons temps rouler!"

"Yes," Hodge ground out, "much too good a time. The place is to be closed."

"I have no excuse to close it," Remy argued.

"Find one," Hodge snapped.

The men who worked for Logan, meanwhile, had surrounded Bobby and were offering to buy him drinks. Mutants far outnumbered "normal" people at Sam's. 

Remy watched, eyes narrowed. Then he let out a shrill whistle. "Everybody is to leave immediately. Sam's is closed until further notice! Clear the room at once!"

The crowd murmured angrily but, eyeing the American soldiers' hands fondling their guns, they began to leave without protest.

Logan was across the bar in a flash. He grabbed Remy by his lapels. "What the hell are ya doin', Gumbo? How can you close me up? On what grounds?"

"I am shocked, shocked to find that there is gambling going on in here," Remy exclaimed.

Logan's jaw dropped. He couldn't think of a response to Gambit's brazen lie. He let go of the Cajun, as Carl the waiter walked over and handed Remy a roll of bills.

"Your winnings, sir."

"Oh. Merci." Then he turned back to the crowd. "Everybody out!"

As people filed out into the street, Hodge walked over to Rogue. 

"Miss --"

"Rogue," she supplied.

"Miss Rogue, after this disturbance, you can see that it is not safe for Drake to stay in Tijuana."

"This morning you implied it wasn't safe for him to leave Tijuana. Make up your mind, sugar."

"That's true, too. Except for one destination. He should return to Washington, DC," he told her.

"DC?"

"Yes. Under safe conduct from me."

Rogue sucked in a breath. "What good is that? We've seen first-hand what your guarantees are worth, Mr. Hodge," she said intensely.

"There are only two other alternatives."

"Which are?"

"It is possible the Mexican authorities will find a reason to relocate him to an internment camp in California."

Rogue's eyes narrowed and she fought the temptation to hit him. He was, after all, the Secretary of Defense of the United States of America. "And the other alternative?" she asked, her voice steely.

"My dear girl, perhaps you've already seen how cheap mutant life is in Tijuana." He inclined his head and said, "Good night, Miss Rogue."

Her fists were clenched when Bobby returned to the bar. "Let's go," he said curtly.

"What happened with Logan?" she asked as the left.

"We'll discuss it later."

* * *


	6. Act V

**Act V**

1.

Bobby turned the light on as they entered the hotel room. Rogue began undressing as he walked to the window and peered out into the darkness. Across the street, he could see a man standing under an arch. Bobby watched him for a few seconds, then drew the blinds.

"We've still got our shadow."

"Bobby, please, don't go to that meeting tonight," Rogue pleaded.

"I have to," he replied soberly. "Besides, it isn't often I get to be heroic in front of you, Rogue." He gave her the boyish smile that so endeared him to her.

"Don't joke. After Hodge's warning, I'm scared."

"Tell you the truth, babe, I'm frightened too. Should I stay here in the hotel room, hiding, or should I carry on the best that I can?" he challenged. "What would Scott or the Professor want me to do?"

She sighed and sat down on the bed. "You'll do what you want no matter what I say, Bobby. You always do." She fiddled with her gloves. "Why don't you tell me what happened with Logan?"

"Apparently, he has the letters."

"And?"

"He has no intention of selling them, at least not to me. You'd think that if he wouldn't do it for money, he'd at least do it for sentimental reasons."

Rogue shifted uneasily. "Did he tell you why?"

Bobby arched an eyebrow. "He said I should ask you."

"Ask me?" She cursed the way her voice squeaked when she said it.

"Yeah. He said, 'Ask your wife.' I don't know why he said that. I didn't even know you'd told him we were married." He turned the light off and sat next to her on the bed. She kept her eyes down.

The silence stretched uncomfortably.

"Rogue, I --"

"Yeah?"

"When I was in the camp, were you lonely?"

Rogue couldn't look at him. She swallowed hard, trying to make her voice work. "Yes, Bobby, I was." She was wringing her hands miserably.

"I know what it's like to be lonely," he said sympathetically, putting a hand over hers, stilling their motion. She closed her eyes. They had never spoken of their time apart. It was possible that he'd sought solace in the arms of someone else as well, she thought. She hoped he had. Being alone was terrible enough when you were free. Being alone and being imprisoned had to be a thousand times worse. 

Finally, very softly he asked, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

She matched his tone. "No, Bobby." Her hair hid her face.

"I love you very much, you know."

"Yes, Bobby, I know." She stood abruptly. "Bobby, whatever I do, will you believe that I -- that--"

"You don't even have to say it. I'll believe you." He rose and brushed a hand fleetingly across her cheek and lips; the light frost he left behind allowed him to kiss her without being hurt. "Good night, Rogue."

"Good night, Bobby."

He walked to the door and she closed her eyes, not want to watch him leave. The door opened and the dim light from the yellow bulb in the hall fell across her face, leaving her half in shadow. "Be careful," she whispered.

"Of course," he replied. "I always am." He brushed another kiss over her cheek before disappearing into the darkness of the hall.

She waited a few moments, then went to the window. Parting the blinds, she saw him walking down the street, followed by the man who'd been waiting under the arch.

Making sure Bobby was out of sight, she got dressed quickly and headed out into the night.

* * *

2. 

Logan looked at Jubilee. "So?"

"We're in pretty good shape, Wolvie. I'd say we can stay closed for about two weeks, maybe three, before we start to feel it," she said, looking over the numbers on the spreadsheet.

"Maybe we won't have to. Bribes have worked before. In the meantime, I'll keep payin' your salaries."

Jubilee smiled. "Carl will be glad to hear that. I owe him money."

"You'll finish lockin' up, kid?" he asked, pulling another cigar out of his pocket.

"Yeah. Then I'm going to the --"

He held up a hand. "Don't tell me where you're goin'. I don't wanna know."

She sighed. "I won't."

He walked to the door that led to the stairs to his aparmennt. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Be careful, Jubilee."

She grinned. "Always am, Wolvie. I always am."

He walked up the stairs, feeling the weight of his metal bones for the first time in a long time.

He stopped in the hallway, frozen, nostrils flared. Opening the door, he drawled, "I told you this afternoon you'd come around, but this is even quicker than I expected. Have a seat."

Rogue turned away from the window and walked over to him. "I had to see you, Logan."

"Your unexpected presence isn't by any chance connected to the letters of transit, is it? As long as I have those damned things, I guess I'll never be lonely."

"We'll give you anything you want, but you have to give me those letters," she said, her voice filled with passion.

"I already went through this with your husband." He twisted the word, made it sound like an epithet. "No deal."

"I know how you feel about me, but I'm askin' you to put your feelings aside for somethin' more important."

"Do I have to hear about what a great guy the Iceman is again? And what an important cause he's fighting for?"

She put a hand on his arm and looked up into his face, trying to catch his eye. "It was your cause too, Logan. In your own way, you were fighting for the same thing." She ran her hand over the grooves between his knuckles.

He shook her off and walked to the window. She followed. "Logan, we loved each other once. If those days meant anything to you at all --"

His voice was harsh when he interrupted her. "I wouldn't bring up San Francisco if I were you. It's poor salesmanship."

"Please. Please listen to me. If you knew what really happened, if you only knew the truth--"

He broke in again. "I wouldn't believe you, no matter what you told me. You'd say anything now to get what you want." He looked down at his hand, surprised to see he was still holding a cigar. He stuck it in his mouth, looking in the desk for some matches.

"You want to feel sorry for yourself, don't you? With so much at stake, all you can think about is your own feelings. One woman has hurt you and you'll take revenge on the rest of the world. You're, you're a coward and a weakling." Her eyes shimmered with tears. She knew she was taking a huge risk. If anyone else had uttered those words, the claws would have been at their throat. It was proof that he still loved her that she wasn't facing them now. "I'm so sorry, Logan. I'm sorry, but you're our last hope. If you don't help us, Robert Drake will die in Tijuana."

  
"What of it?" he shot back. "I'm going to die in Tijuana. It's a good spot for it."

He turned away and lit the cigar. He heard her shuffling with something. When he turned back, he saw Rogue had her left glove off, and a small revolver in her right hand. It was pointed directly at him. "All right. I tried everything. Now I want those letters. Get them for me."

"I don't have to get them," he said. "I've got them right here." He tapped his pocket.

"Put them on the table," she ordered.

"No." He shook his head.

"For the last time, Logan, put them on the table."

"If Drake and the cause mean so much to you, you won't stop at anything," he replied. 

"I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to."

  
"Go ahead and shoot," he said, moving closer to her. "You know it won't kill me." He grabbed the hand with the gun and pressed it to his chest. "Go on. I'll make it easier for you." He reached out and brushed his thumb against her cheek.

She jerked away, but not before she'd gotten a taste of what he was thinking and feeling. The love he had for her was overwhelming; she turned and walked away, leaning on his desk for support.

"Oh, God, Logan," she whispered, crying now. "I tried to stay away. I thought I'd never see you again, that you were out of my life." He moved behind her and encircled her in his arms, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. "The day you left, if you only knew what I went through. If you knew how much I loved you, how much I still love you!"

He pulled her scarf up over her lips and kissed her passionately. Rogue felt herself get lost in his embrace, the touch and feel and taste of him, everything she'd longed for since the first time she'd seen him, that long ago day in Laughlin City.

He carried her over to the couch, his lips leaving hers only long enough to trace a path of fire up to her ear and to whisper how much he loved her. She returned his kisses and caresses with equal fervor. 

He came to his senses finally when her hand moved to unzip his jeans. "Marie," he panted, "we can't. I can't. Not like this."

"When did you develop morals, Logan?" she whispered. "I want to. I want --"

"You do now, but you'll hate yourself, and me, when you walk back into your hotel room and see Bobby later." He sat up and brushed the hair out of her eyes before buttoning her blouse with gentle fingers. She ran her hand over his, amazed at how tender he could be, even with nine-inch metal blades embedded in his arms.

She swallowed her objections. He was right. "Thank you."

He slid an arm around her and she rested her head on his chest. "Tell me what happened."

"Bobby and I got married shortly after the mansion was attacked. We lived with his parents, and it just seemed -- they were very old-fashioned, and well, I loved him. But then he was taken, and it was in all the newspapers that he'd been interned. I was frantic, terrified. For months I tried to get word. All I knew was that he'd been moved west. I followed. Finally, I heard. 

"He was dead. Shot trying to escape. I was lonely. I had nothing. Not even hope. Everyone was dead, as far as I knew. Scott, the Professor, you -- I had nothing.

"And then you called my name, and life was worth living again."

"Why weren't you honest with me? Why keep the marriage a secret?" He stroked her back, trying to ease some of her tension.

"It wasn't my secret to keep, Logan. Bobby insisted. He wanted it that way. No one other than his parents knew. He felt it was safer for me that way. I knew so much about the work, and if the police or the FBI found out I was his wife, it would be dangerous for me and for those working with me. Not to mention that he was afraid they'd use me to get to him."

"When did you first find out that he was still alive?"

"The morning of our last day together. Remember I went to the market? A friend came and told me that Bobby was alive. They were hiding him at one of the vineyards in Napa. He was sick, he'd been injured, he needed me. I wanted to tell you -- both you and Storm -- but I didn't dare. I knew you'd have stayed, and you'd have been caught by the FBI. So I... well, you know the rest." She sniffed, trying to contain the sobs that wanted to escape.

"Huh. It's still a story without an ending," Logan mused. "What about now?"

"Now? I don't know. I know that I'll never have the strength to leave you again."

"And Drake?"

She raised her head to look at him, the tears spilling over silently. "You'll help him now, won't you, Logan? You'll make sure he gets out? Then he'll have his work -- that's all he lives for. Professor Xavier would be so proud."

"He'll have everything except you."

"I can't fight it anymore. When you left me that first time, I thought my heart would never mend. I ran away from you once and it almost killed me. I can't do it again. Oh, I don't know what's right anymore. You'll have to think for both of us, Logan. For all of us."

"All right, darlin'. I will," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. 

"I wish I didn't love you so much," she whispered, crawling into his lap.

* * *

3.

Jubilee and Bobby made their way through the darkness toward the service entrance to Sam's. They ran inside the entryway to the alley and flattened themselves against a wall as a police car sped by.

"I think we lost them," Jubilee whispered.

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, but I'm afraid they caught some of the others."

Jubilee unlocked the door quietly. "Come inside. Come on." They moved stealthily into the darkened bar and Jubilee said, "I'll get you some water."

Upstairs, Logan paused in the middle of kissing Rogue, senses alert.   
  
She moaned in frustration when he stopped, and tried to pull his head back down to her lips. When he shook his head, she murmured, "What is it?"   
  
He put a finger to his lips, got up and crept down the stairs silently. 

Opening the door to his office, he said, "Jubes, what happened?" He could smell the blood -- Drake's blood.

The conspirators looked at him, startled. "The police broke up our meeting, Logan. We escaped at the last moment," she said excitedly.

"Come over here for a minute," Logan said. She walked over to the door with a questioning look on her face. "I want you to turn the light out in the rear entrance. It might attract the police."

"But Ororo always puts that light out."

"She forgot tonight."

Jubilee sighed. "Okay." 

She followed Logan up the stairs to the apartment and stopped dead when she saw Rogue in the doorway.

"Take Rogue back to her hotel," he whispered.

"Okay."

The two women crept out the front door of the apartment while Logan walked back downstairs to face Bobby, who was wrapping his hand in a small towel.

"What happened?" Logan asked.

"It's nothing. Just a little cut. We had to get through a window."

"Had a close one, eh?"

"Yeah."

Logan moved behind the bar and poured out a drink. "This might come in handy, kid," he said, pushing the glass toward the blond man.

"Thanks." He downed the shot of whiskey gratefully.

"Don't you ever wonder if it's worth all this? I mean, what you're fighting for?" Logan asked.

Bobby looked surprised. "We might as well wonder why we breathe, Logan. If we stop breathing, we die. If we stop fighting our enemies, the world dies."

"What of it? Then we'll all be out of our misery." He pulled out a cigar and trimmed it.

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of something even you don't believe, Logan. Each of us has a destiny in the world, for good or for evil."

"God, you sound like Chuck or Erik," Logan responded. "But I get your point." He lit his cigar.

"I wonder if you do," Bobby said. "I wonder if you know you're trying to escape from yourself and that you'll never succeed."

"You seem to know an awful lot about my destiny, boy."

"I know a lot more about you than you'd expect. I know you're in love with a woman. It's strange that we're both in love with the same woman. Since no one is to blame, I demand no explanations. I know what you mean to her. 

"I ask only one thing. You won't give me the letters of transit? Fine. But I want my wife to be safe. I'm asking you, as a favor, to use the letters to take her away from Tijuana."

"You love her that much?"

"I'm not **made** of ice, despite what you think, Logan." He looked away for a moment, then, "Yes, I love her that much."

Suddenly, the silence of the night was interrupted by a loud crash, as several Mexican police officers rammed in the front door of the bar.

The leader of the group walked up to Logan and Bobby and said, "Mr. Drake?"

"Yes?" Bobby answered.

"You will come with us. We have a warrant for your arrest."

"On what charge?" Bobby asked.

"Governor LeBeau will discuss that with you later, Señor."

"Well, well," Logan murmured. "Destiny takes a hand."

Bobby looked at him and then, in dignified silence, he walked over to the door, followed by the Mexican policemen. Logan watched them, expressionless.

* * *

4.

"You haven't got any actual proof and you know it!" Logan exclaimed, pacing up and down in front of Remy's desk the next morning. "This isn't the States. We're not under martial law here. All you can do is fine him a few thousand pesos and give him thirty days. You might as well let him go."

"Wolvie," Remy began. Logan growled at the nickname, and the Cajun hastily said, "Logan, I'd advise you not to be too interested in what happens to Drake. If, by any chance, you were to help him escape--"

"What makes you think I'd stick my neck out for Drake?" he interrupted, stopping his pacing to pin the other man with a glare.

"Because one, you've bet me five thousand dollars that he'd escape. Two, you have the letters of transit -- don't even try to deny it. And, well, you might do it simply because you don't like Hodge's looks. Mon Dieu, Remy don't like him either."

"Those are all great reasons," Logan admitted.

"Don't count too much on my friendship, Logan. In this matter, I'm powerless. Besides, I might lose five thousand dollars." Remy shrugged.

"You're not real subtle, Gumbo, but you're effective. I get the point." He resumed pacing. "Yeah, I got the letters, but I'm planning on using them myself. I'm leaving Tijuana on tonight's plane. The last plane."

"Huh?" 

"And I'm taking a friend with me. One you'll appreciate."

"Who?"

"Rogue." He stopped again, and dropped into a chair. "That oughta put your mind at ease about me helping Drake escape. He's the last man I wanna see when I get to Canada."

"You didn't come here to tell me this," Remy said skeptically, trying to figure out what Logan was really planning. "You have the letters of transit. You can fill in your name and hers and leave at any time you like. Why are you so interested in what happens to Bobby?"

"I'm not. But I am interested in what happens to Rogue and me. We have a legal right to go, that's true. But people have been held in Tijuana in spite of their legal rights."

Remy lit up a cigarette to give himself time to think. "What makes you think we want to hold you?"

"Rogue is Bobby's wife. She probably knows things Hodge would love to know." Logan stood and leaned on the desk. "Remy, I'll make you a deal. Instead of this trumped up charge you have against him, you can get something really big -- something that would chuck him in a camp for years.

"That'd be quite a feather in your cap, wouldn't it?"

"It would. Mexico -- America would be very grateful."

"Then release him. You be at my place half an hour before the plane leaves." More pacing from Logan. "I'll arrange to have Drake come there to pick up the letters of transit, and that'll give you the criminal grounds to make an arrest. You get him, Rogue and I get away. To the Americans, she and I are chump change. Drake's a major score."

Remy was still trying to figure out Logan's angle. "I still don't understand. Rogue is gorgeous, sure, but still, she's just a woman. You could take Jean with you. You were in love with her all those years ago."

Logan snorted. "Marie's not just any woman." His eyes locked onto Remy's strange red-on-black ones.

"I see." Remy looked away first. "How do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"I'll make the arrangements right now with Drake in the visitors' pen."

Remy laughed delightedly. "Remy gonna miss you, Logan. Apparently, you're the only homme in Tijuana with fewer scruples than the Gambit."

Logan stuck his cigar in his mouth. "Thanks." He got up to leave. When he was at the door, he said, "By the way, call off your watchdogs when you let him go. I don't want them around this afternoon. I'm takin' no chances, Remy. Not even with you."

* * *

5.

The next morning found Logan at La Café. He and Magneto sat in a secluded back room.

"Shall we draw up papers, or is our handshake good enough?" Erik asked.

"It ain't good enough, but since I'm in a hurry, it'll have to do," Logan replied, taking a sip of coffee.

"Ah, to get out of Tijuana and go to Canada. You're a lucky man."  
  


Logan smirked. "Just so you know, I'm only selling my half of the bar. Ororo owns the other fifty percent."

"Hmm. I happen to know that she owns only twenty-five percent, but I will give her fifty."

"And the rest of the staff -- including Jubilee - stays on," Logan reminded him, lighting a cigar.

"But of course. Sam's wouldn't be Sam's without them," Erik replied.

Logan stood. "Well, see ya round, Mags."

Magneto stood and they shook hands to seal the deal. Logan walked to the door before he remembered something. He stopped and turned. "Don't forget -- you owe Sam's thirty-two cases of Molson Golden."

Erik smiled. "I shall remember to pay it... to myself."

* * *

6.

**That night...**

Remy's car pulled up in front of Sam's. On the door was a large sign reading, "Closed By Order of the Governor" in both English and Spanish. He got out of the car and frowned at the sign. He had a feeling he was missing something.

Remy walked in to see Logan sitting at a table, reading some papers. He shoved the papers into his pocket when the Cajun approached the table.

"You're late," he snapped.

"I was informed when Drake was about to leave his hotel, so I knew I'd be on time," Remy replied, unruffled by the other man's bad mood.

"I thought I asked you to tie up your watchdogs."

"Oh," Remy said airily, "he won't be followed here." He looked around the empty bar. "You know, this place won't be the same without you, Logan."

Logan snorted. "Yeah, but I've already spoken with Magneto. You'll still get twenty percent of the take from the cage."

Remy smiled. "Is everything ready?" he asked.

Logan patted his pocket. "I have everything right here."

"Tell me, when we searched the place, where were they?"

Logan grinned genuinely. "Under the refrigerator."

"Serves me right for not being domestic," Remy muttered.

Logan's ear perked at the sound of a car pulling up. "They're here. You'd better wait in my office."

Remy slipped into the back room quietly.

Bobby stopped to pay the cabdriver while Rogue rushed into the bar. Logan grabbed her and pulled her close. He could smell the tension emanating from her shaking body.

"Logan, Bobby thinks I'm goin' with him," she murmured. "Didn't you tell him?"

"No, not yet."

"But it's all right, isn't it? You were able to arrange everything?"

"Everything's fine, kid," he reassured her. "We'll tell him at the airport. The less time to think, the easier it is for all of us. Trust me."

She looked at him, unsure. "I hate when people say that to me," she said. "But I will. I do."

Bobby walked in, then. "Logan, I don't know how to thank you for this."

"Save it, Frosty. We still got a lot to do."

Remy slid the door open and watched closely.

"I brought the money, Logan," Bobby said.

"Keep it. You'll need it in Canada," Logan said shortly.

"But we made a deal--"

Logan cut him off. "Forget about that. You won't have any trouble when you get to Vancouver, will you?"

Bobby shook his head. "It's all arranged."

"Good. I've got the letters of transit right here." He pulled the letters out of his pocket. "All you have to do is sign 'em." He handed them to Bobby, who took them gratefully.

"Robert Drake!" Remy called from the doorway of Logan's office. "You are under arrest on the charge of accessory to the murder of the couriers from whom these letters were stolen."

Rogue and Bobby were both caught completely off-guard. They both turned toward Logan, bewildered. Rogue looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Remy grabbed the letters.

"Oh, are you surprised by mon ami, Logan?" Remy said. He smiled and turned toward Logan, seemingly delighted with the situation. "It's really quite simple, non? Amor has triumphed over virtue. Thank --"

Suddenly, his smile faded as he found himself facing three nine-inch adamantium claws.

"Not so fast, Romeo. Nobody's going to be arrested, not for a while yet."

"Are you insane?" Remy demanded.

"Yeah." He gestured with the claws. "Sit down at that table."

Remy walked toward him instead of the table Logan had pointed at, and Logan waggled the claws under his nose. "Remy, I don't wanna gut ya, but I will if you take one more step."

Remy looked at him closely. "Under the circumstances, Remy gonna sit down." He walked to the table Logan indicated and sat.

"Keep your hands on the table," Logan snapped.

"I suppose you know what you're doing, but I wonder if you realize what this means?" Remy asked.

"Yeah. We got plenty of time to discuss that later, bub."

"Call off your watchdogs, you said," Remy muttered. "I **knew** you were up to something."

"Just the same, you call the airport and let me hear you tell 'em. Remember, these are pointed right at your heart," Logan replied, touching the tips of his claws to Remy's chest.

"That is my least vulnerable spot." He pulled his cell phone out and dialed. Logan took the letters back from him. "Hello, is this the airport? This is Governor LeBeau. There will be two letters of transit for the flight to Vancouver tonight. There's to be no trouble about them. Good."

* * *

Cameron Hodge stared at his phone.  "Hello? Hello?" He hung up and pressed another button on the phone. "This is Cameron Hodge. Have a squad of policemen meet me at the airport at once. Do you hear me? At once!"

He hung up and rushed to his car.

* * *

7.

**Tijuana Airstrip **

Voices crackled over the radio sitting on the dash of Logan's car. "Vancouver flight taking off in ten minutes. East runway. Visibility: one and one half miles. Light ground fog. Depth of fog: approximately five hundred. Ceiling: unlimited. Over."

They got out of the car and one of the Mexican officers rushed to greet LeBeau. Logan stood behind him, a hand on his shoulder, silent testimony to how quickly the claws could come out if he didn't play along.

Bobby and Rogue stepped out onto the tarmac.

Logan said, "Remy, have your man go with Drake and take care of his luggage."

"Anything you say, Logan," Remy replied, inclining his head. He turned to the policeman. "Find Mr. Drake's luggage and put it on the plane."

"Yes, sir. This way, please." The policeman led Bobby toward the plane.

As they walked toward the hangar, Logan pulled the letters out of his pocket. "If you don't mind," he said ironically, "you fill in the names yourself. That'll make it even more official." He handed the papers to Remy.

"You think of everything, don't you?"

Logan looked over his shoulder at Marie. "The names are Mr. and Mrs. Robert Drake," he said softly.

Remy stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. Both he and Rogue stared at Logan in astonishment.

"But, why my name, Logan?" Rogue asked.

"Because you're gettin' on that plane," Logan replied grimly.

Rogue was confused. "I don't understand. What about you?"

Logan's grin was feral and unfriendly. "I'm staying here with him," he gestured to Remy, "'til the plane gets outta here safely."

Rogue blinked, as understanding dawned. "No, Logan. No. I want to stay here with you. What happened? Last night we said --"

He interrupted. "We said a lot of things last night, kid. You said you wanted me to think for the both of us. Well, I've done a lot of thinkin' since then, and it all adds up to one thing. You're gettin' on that plane with Bobby, where you belong."

"Logan, no! I belong with you -- I --" Rogue protested, grabbing his arm.

Again, he didn't let her finish. "You listen to me, Marie. Do you have any idea what life would be like if you stayed here? Odds are, we'd wind up in a concentration camp. Ain't that right, Gumbo?"

Remy didn't look up from where he was countersigning the papers. "I'm afraid Secretary Hodge would insist."

"You're only sayin' this to make me go," Rogue cried.

He took her shoulders and stared down into her eyes. "I'm sayin' it because it's true, kid. Inside of us, we both know you belong with Bobby. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him goin'. If that plane leaves and you're not with him, you'll regret it."

"No."

"Yes. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life," he replied, cupping her cheek with a gloved hand.

"But what about us?" she whispered.

"We'll always have San Francisco. We didn't. We'd lost it, until you came to Tijuana. We got it back last night."

"I said I'd never leave you." Her lower lip trembled and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. 

It took all the strength he had not to fling her over his shoulder and run for the plane. "And you never will," he said roughly, moving his hand down to trace the chain of his dogtags, which had reappeared around her neck this evening. She'd taken them off when she married Bobby, kept them with her as a remembrance. She'd put them on earlier, under her shirt, to mark the beginning of her new life. She was drawn back to the present by Logan's words.

"But I got a job to do, too. Where I'm goin', you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of." She shook her head and he engulfed her in his arms. "Marie, I'm no good at bein' noble, but it don't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday, you'll understand that. Now, now--"

She raised her face to him, the tears spilling from her chocolate velvet eyes. "Logan, I--"

"Here's lookin' at you, kid," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers lightly, letting his feelings for her flow through the connection before he pulled away.

Bobby came walking back, then. Logan took the letters from Remy and said, "You good to go?"

Bobby jerked his chin toward the papers. "Is everything ready?"

Logan nodded. "Yeah. Except for one thing. There's somethin' you should know before you go."

Bobby tensed, knowing what was coming. "Logan, please. Don't explain anything."

"I'm gonna explain anyway," Logan continued, inexorably. "Because it might make a difference later on. You knew about Rogue and me. But you didn't know that she was at my place last night. She came there for the letters of transit. Ain't that right, Marie?"

Rogue faced her husband. "Yes."

"She tried everything to get 'em, and nothin' worked. She did her best to convince me that she was still in love with me, but that was all over a long time ago. For your sake, she pretended it wasn't, and I let her," Logan said forcefully.

"I understand," Bobby said.

Logan handed him the letters. "Here they are."

"Thanks. I appreciate this more than you know." He held his hand out to the Canadian, who took it and shook it firmly. "And welcome back to the fight. This time, I know we'll win."

A shout came from the plane -- they were waiting only for the last two passengers to board. They all turned to stare at it for a moment. Rogue looked at Logan, who gazed at her impassively, no emotion in his hazel eyes. His jaw was clenched tight, though, as were his fists. She was sure if she could see his hands, his knuckles would be white with strain.

Bobby broke the silence. "Rogue, are you ready?"

"Yeah." She turned to Logan. "Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself."

"Always," he said gruffly, stroking her cheek one last time. "You better hurry, kid, or you'll miss the plane."

Then Bobby took her arm and led her to the plane. Logan and Remy watched as they climbed the stairs.

"Well, Remy was right. You are a romantic."

"Shut the fuck up. I don't know what you're talkin' about," Logan growled. He pulled out a cigar and used a single claw to clip it before lighting it.

"What you just did for Drake, and that fairy tale you invented to send Rogue off with him. Remy knows women, mon ami. She went, but she knew you were lying."

"Anyway," Logan went on, ignoring what Remy had just said, "thanks for helping me out."

"I suppose you know this ain't gonna be pleasant for either of us, especially for you. I'll have to arrest you, of course."

"As soon as the plane takes off, Remy."

The plane taxied along the runway as a car came speeding onto the tarmac. Cameron Hodge jumped out of the car just as it came to a stop.

"What is the meaning of that phone call?" Hodge demanded.

Remy lit a cigarette and pointed. "Robert Drake is on that plane," he answered.

"Why are you standing here? Stop that plane!"

Remy shrugged. "Ask Logan."

Hodge looked briefly at Logan, then reached inside his jacket pocket for his cell phone.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Logan growled.

"I'd advise you not to interfere," Hodge said coldly.

"I was willin' to kill LeBeau and I'm willin' to kill you," Logan said evenly.

Hodge watched the plane in agony. His eyes darted between Logan and the phone in his hand. He pressed a button and said, "Standish! Get me the radio tower!"

"Put it down," Logan snarled.

Hodge reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a gun. He shot quickly at Logan, but missed. They could hear sirens wailing as more police approached.

_Snikt_

The gun was cut to pieces; Logan embedded the claws in Hodge's stomach and jerked upward. Hodge crumpled to the ground as Logan withdrew the blades.

In the distance, the plane turned onto the runway.

A police car sped up, lights flashing. Four officers spilled out of the car and stood at attention in front of LeBeau. 

"Secretary Hodge has been attacked," Remy informed them. He glanced over at Logan, who returned his gaze with an enigmatic expression. "Round up the usual suspects."

"Si, Señor," the lead policeman said, saluting smartly. They picked up Hodge's body, loaded it in the trunk of the car, and sped away.

"Well, Logan, not only are you a romantic, but you've become a patriot. Xavier would be proud."

"Maybe," Logan said, shrugging. "It seemed like a good time to start."

Remy thought about everything that had happened the past few days. "I think perhaps you are right." 

They stood in silence and watched the plane take off through the fog, holding their gaze until it disappeared behind the clouds.

"It might be a good idea for you to disappear for a while, Logan. There's a village down near Mazatlán that might work. I could be induced to arrange a passage."

"My letter of transit? I could use a trip," Logan replied. "But it doesn't make any difference about our bet. You still owe me five thousand dollars."

"And that five thousand dollars should just about cover our expenses, mon frere."

"Our expenses?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Oui."

"Remy, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Logan rumbled.

And the two men walked off into the night.

~~Fin~~


End file.
